The Discalced Carmelites in Venice

Transcription

Publication edited with the support of
The Discalced Carmelites
in Venice
The Church of Santa Maria di Nazareth
and the Monastery Garden
Useful Information
Tel. 041 82.24.006
[email protected]
www.carmeloveneto.it
www.centroscalzi.it
www.consorziovinivenezia.it
www.veneziawineandfood.it
in Venice
The Church
of Santa Maria di Nazareth
in Venice
The Church
Index
Introduction
1. Consorzio Vini Venezia 2. The Order of the Discalced Carmelites
pag. 6
8
Part I
1. The Church of Santa Maria di Nazareth in Venice
I.The Façade
II.The Nave
III. The Friars’ Choir
IV. The Presbytery and the High Altar
V. The Chapel of the Crucifixion
VI. The Chapel of the Holy Family
VII. The Chapel of St. Sebastian
VIII. The Chapel of St. John the Baptist
IX. The Chapel of St. Teresa of Avila
X. The Chapel of St. John of the Cross
pag. 14
16
18
21
22
26
28
30
32
34
36
Part II
1. The Garden: Layout and Meaning
2. The Garden as Part of the Architectural Heritage
of the Discalced Carmelites
3. The Formal Characteristics of the Garden
4. The Garden of the Five Senses 5. The Mystic Garden
6.Numerology
7. The First Plant Bed: the Lawn
8. The Second Plant Bed: the Garden of Simples
9. The Third Plant Bed: the Friars’ Garden
10. The Fourth Plant Bed: the Vineyard
11. The Fifth Plant Bed: the Orchard of Lost Flavours
12. The Sixth Plant Bed: the Garden of Gethsemane
13. The Seventh Plant Bed: a Bower of Trees
14. The Fourteen Types of Plants
15. Lighting 16.Irrigation
17. The Garden Huts
Bibliography
pag. 40
42
46
55
56
59
62
64
67
70
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80
84
99
100
101
pag. 103
5
Consorzio Vini Venezia
Envisaged as a place of both tranquillity and discovery,
the garden of the Discalced Carmelites was the focus
of a project that aimed to restore and safeguard the
tradition of wine-making within religious houses, and
at the same time nurture the few remaining traces of
viticulture within the Venetian lagoon.
Consorzio Vini Venezia
Consorzio Vini Venezia is an organisation that brings
together a range of professions and its members
include more than 4,500 producers of wine in the
Treviso and Venice area. Its aim is to promote various
wines that enjoy Denominazione di Origine Controllata
recognition – D.O.C. Lison-Pramaggiore, D.O.C. Piave
and D.O.C. Venezia – together with two that are of
Denominazione di Origine Controllata e Garantita:
D.O.C.G. Lison and D.O.C.G. Malanotte del Piave.
The promotion of the area’s traditional produce – and
of its wines in particular – begins with a survey
and analysis of their history. Hence, the Consorzio
was involved in a wide-ranging research project to
identify the old varieties of vine present in Venice
and surrounding islands, with the aim of restoring
viticulture within the lagoon, an activity which had all
but disappeared there.
Useful Information:
Registered Address:
San Marco, 2032
30124 Venezia (VE)
Business Premises:
Via Businello, 3
31040 Portobuffolè (TV)
Tel: 0422850045
Fax: 0422850253
E-Mail:
[email protected]
Internet Site:
Venezia Wine and Food
Venezia Wine and Food was set up by the producers
of typical regional produce: wines, cheeses, salami,
artichokes and many others items that bear witness
to the rich gastronomic traditions of the lagoon and its
hinterland.
The participation of Venezia Wine and Food in the
restoration of this garden reflects the presence here
of a number of the crops that have enhanced the
reputation of this region’s cuisine.
Useful Information:
Registered Address
and Business Premises:
Via Businello, 3
31040 Portobuffolè (TV)
Tel: 0422850045
Fax: 0422850253
E-Mail:
[email protected]
Internet Site:
Alongside: the Cipriani
vineyard on the island of the
Giudecca.
Opposite page: the restored
vineyard on the island of
Torcello.
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The Order of the Discalced Carmelites
originated in the Holy Land around the
end of the twelfth century. It was at the
end of the Third Crusade that a small
groups of European crusaders decided
to settle on the slopes of Mount Carmel,
which stood within the fertile Jezreel
Valley: as well as being a noun that
means “garden” (the Garden of God),
Karmel is also the proper name of the
fine promontory which, rich in vegetation
and water, extends from a chain of hills in
the north of Palestine to look out over the
sea. Since ancient times, Mount Carmel
had been considered a holy mountain. To
the prophets, it embodied the Promised
Land, a paradise of great fecundity that
God gave to those who followed his
Word.
manual labour, which was essential for
their survival.
As with all orders of religious life, the
Carmelite community was guided by
a Prior to whom all owed obedience, a
man who exercised his role by serving
the community as Christ had served.
Nevertheless, the style of life adopted
did not correspond to the Rule of any of
the Orders then in existence. Thus, some
time between 1206 and 1214, the hermits
requested Albert, Patriarch of Jerusalem
– who at the time was living in Acre, near
Mount Carmel – to draw up a Rule that
reflected the life they had chosen. The
text of this Rule for “Hermit Friars” would
then be approved by Pope Honorius III
in 1226, and so the Order of Carmelites
became part of the Church. Subsequently,
the text would be modified by Pope
Innocent IV to encourage the creation of
Carmelite communities throughout the
world; thereafter, the official title for the
hermits was “The Brothers of the Blessed
Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel”.
The first Carmelites, in fact, had a
particular devotion to the Virgin. Not
only did they make her the holy patron
of the Order, they also dedicated their
first small chapel in her name; and each
The first Carmelites chose to live in a way
that truly followed the example of Jesus
Christ, giving themselves over “day and
night” to prayer and meditation upon
the Word of God; it would be this that
became the core of the Carmelite Rule.
Living in individual cells, they gathered
together each day in a chapel to celebrate
Holy Mass and sing the Psalms. However,
life within their hermitages also envisaged
Carmelite when he took his vows dedicated himself
both to God and to the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount
Carmel. Mary was, in effect, the elder sister who
embodied all the values and traditions to be seen in
a family dedicated to God; it was upon her that they
modelled their “Resolution” in becoming Carmelites,
in deciding to labour in her name. The Order belongs
to Mary, as do its churches and monasteries. And the
same might be said of the habits the Carmelites wear:
the scapular which Pope Paul VI would declare to be an
expression of “ecclesiastical devotion”, of oecumenical,
catholic faith. The Carmelites are, therefore, entirely
given over to Mary, and can be said to be her own
particular family. Indeed, the Church recognises that the
Carmelites occupy a place of honour in the veneration
of the Virgin. In contemplating the beauty of Mount
Carmel, they contemplated the beauty of Mary the
Immaculate Virgin, the masterpiece of God’s grace.
The other figure that plays a “founding” role in the Order
is Elijah, the prophet of fire, the solitary man who “in
living upon Mount Carmel pleased God”.
That first community would then generate others – at
Acre and Tyre. However, when the Crusaders’ kingdom
fell in 1291, the Order was uprooted from the Holy
Land and the friars were forced to emigrate to Europe
as their monasteries were destroyed. The first centres
they set up anew were in Sicily, Holland and England.
However, by order of the Pope they now had to abandon
their anchorite existence and live as a mendicant Order,
The crest of the Carmel
is made up of five
components. The
mountain is the symbol
of Mount Carmel itself,
with the Cross on the
summit distinguishing
between the Calced and
Discalced Carmelites. The
three stars represent the
two prophets Elijah and
Elisha and (the bottom
star) the Virgin Mary. The
hand griping the sword
is another reference to
the prophet Elijah. And
the text in the scroll is
an expression of that
prophet’s love of God: “I
burn with zeal for the Lord
God of Hosts”. Finally,
the crown with the twelve
stars is a reference to an
image in St. John’s Book
of Revelation.
Opposite page: ruins on Mount
Carmel.
Above: the crest of the Order
of Discalced Carmelites.
Alongside: Lorenzetti, Pope
John XXII approving the Rule
of the Carmelites (detail of the
Carmine Altarpiece).
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which – by the end of the thirteenth
century – had a total of 150 monasteries.
in which we live together” (Founding
Rule 13, 5). However, the new order
was also to have a missionary role,
such work being seen as exercising
care for the Body of Christ – that is, His
Church. Thus, to the “Resolution” of the
early Carmelites was added an apostolic
mission: to live for the good of the Church.
The first monastery of the Discalced
Carmelites came into being at the small
town of Duruelo (outside Avila) in 1568.
Teresa envisaged that the “contemplative
friars” (a title agreed upon with the Friar
General of the Order) should assist and
watch over the Discalced nuns and at
the same time participate in works of
apostolic devotion. The first Discalced
Carmelite friar was St. John of the
Cross. All of this was, for Teresa, a
sign of God’s grace and a personal and
ecclesiastical response to the wounds
inflicted upon the Church by the ruptures
resulting from the preachings of Luther,
from heresy and the profanation of the
Eucharist, from the bestial behaviour of
certain conquistadores in their treatment
Europe in the second half of the sixteenth
century might be described as a Golden
Age in Church history, and it was then
that a new type of Carmelite community
appeared: the Discalced Carmelites.
This new style of monastic existence
was reflected in a small Carmelite
community which Teresa of Avila founded
in that city’s monastery of St. Joseph.
Nowadays it seems straightforward to
say that Teresa was the founding mother
of the Order of Discalced Carmelites, but
what she did was previously unheard of:
nowhere during the Spanish siglo d’oro
[Golden Century] had a woman founded
a religious order by beginning with the
male branch of the organisation, with a
monastery rather than a convent.
Whilst reflecting continuity with the
rich tradition of the old Carmelite Order,
that inspired by Teresa was new in its
insistence upon total simplicity in “the
style of brotherhood and celebration
of the Indios of America. As for St. Teresa herself, her
numerous writings – including the 1577 Interior Castle,
considered a masterpiece of Christian literature – have
for 500 years been a source of guidance to numerous
priests, clerics and laypersons.
The new Carmelite Order would quickly spread from
Spain to the rest of the world, with Teresa herself
founding 16 monasteries and preparing the first
missionary expedition to set out for the Congo in April
1582; unfortunately, the five Discalced Carmelites that
made up this mission (sponsored by the Portuguese
monarch) would die in a shipwreck. However, two
years after the death of the saint (in 1584) a second
mission would again set off for the Congo, with one
to Mexico being organised for 1585. Ultimately, by the
beginning of the next century the order of Discalced
Carmelites had undertaken extensive missionary activity
throughout Europe. Pope Clement VIII, for example,
would even ask the Order to undertake a mission to
Persia, writing: “I know from personal experience how
useful the Discalced Carmelites are for the Church: on
the one hand, through their prayers, self-mortification
and austere life; on the other, through their preaching,
hearing of confessions and administration of the
sacraments. In both, they make a great contribution to
the glory of God and the salvation of souls.” (taken from
a Papal Brief of 13 September 1600).
In a recent interview, the present Vicar General of the
Discalced Carmelites, Father Emilio José Martinez,
commented: “There are four thousand friars – a
number that has not changed since 1952, which is
almost miraculous for this day and age – and around
ten thousand nuns. The largest number are in Europe,
especially in Spain and Portugal; but the Order’s future
is in Asia, India and Africa, though in Europe we have a
lot of young monks in Croatia. For its part, the Veneto
Province of the Discalced Carmelites was this year
blessed by the entrance of seven new postulants, the
largest number of any province in Europe” (taken from
Gente Veneta, n. 48, 20 December 2014, p. 18).
10
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The core of the life of the
Carmelites:
1. Perception of the
great dignity and beauty
of each person because
they are redeemed by
the blood of Christ and
called to communion with
God. At the same time,
care of the community,
which makes it possible
to give oneself over to
God. This is why St. Teresa
laid down the maximum
number of nuns in each
convents should be 20
(at the Convent of the
Incarnation there had been
180!) and abolished all
social differences between
them.
2. Prayer as a bond
of friendship with Jesus
Christ is the element
that binds together
the religious life and
community. Teresa
combined two hours
of daily prayer with two
hours of sharing, of
calm dialogue that would
increase friendship and
reciprocal love.
3. The essence of the
Carmelite life is service
to the Church: “Blessed
are the lives which to their
very end are spent in the
service of the Church”.
Life of St. Teresa, 40, 15
Opposite page: St John of the
Cross (on the left), St Teresa
of Avila (on the right, in a
painting by Diego Velázquez).
The Church
of Santa Maria
di Nazareth
The Church of Santa Maria di Nazareth in Venice
The Discalced Carmelites first arrived in Venice in
1633, and around twenty years later the city’s Senate
would grant the Order the right to build a church and
associated monastery for religious worship. The site
chosen was in the sestiere of Cannaregio, facing onto
the Grand Canal near the church and monastery of
Santa Lucia, and the project involved the purchase of
various houses and gardens that stretched from there
back onto the lagoon. This was then an outlying district
of the city, with a sizeable number of religious houses; it
was only after the opening of the bridge onto mainland,
in 1847, that the area would rapidly become the gateway
to the city as a whole. In fact, the construction here of
the Venice railway station would involve the gradual
demolition of churches and religious houses (especially
convents) that had long occupied the site; the station
itself takes its name from one of them, which was
dedicated to Santa Lucia. Meanwhile, in 1858, a new
bridge had been built over the Grand Canal; standing
almost directly in front of the Church of the Discalced
Carmelites (Gli Scalzi), this structure – originally in cast
iron – is now known as Ponte degli Scalzi.
One of the finest examples of baroque architect in
Venice, the church itself was consecrated in October
1705 – even though work on its interior decoration was
incomplete – and dedicated to St. Mary of Nazareth,
the patron of the Discalced Carmelites. Throughout
the course of the eighteenth century, it would then be
adorned with works by a group of remarkable artists;
primarily, these were the Carmelite architect Giuseppe
Pozzo and the painter Giambattista Tiepolo, but others
included the architects Baldassare Longhena and
Giuseppe Sardi (the latter the designer of the façade),
the sculptors Heinrich Meyring, Bernardo Falconi,
Giovanni Maria Morlaiter and Tommaso Ruer, and the
painters Domenico and Giuseppe Valeriani (together,
much more recently, with Ettore Tito). Such an
accumulation of artistic beauty was possible thanks to
donations both from wealthy Venetian aristocrats and
from the humbler inhabitants of the city, all eager to
show their affection for the Order and their respect for
its work.
14
Santa Maria di Nazareth
Headed by the architect
Baldassare Longhena,
work on the church
and monastery of the
Discalced Carmelites
ended in 1680, with the
completion of the facade.
However, the friars had
moved into the monastery
as early as 1654, dividing
their time between
religious duties and care
of their garden. The main
donors who made this
masterpiece possible were
the aristocratic family of
the Cavazza.
Opposite page: views of the
Church in eighteenth-century
paintings.
Above: detail of an engraving
by Luca Carlevarijs (1703).
Centre: Canaletto, The Upper
Stretch of the Grand Canal,
Venice (detail; London,
National Gallery).
Below: View of the Grand
Canal with the Churches
and Santa Lucia (c. 1750,
detail; Schwerin, Staatliches
Museum).
15
The Façade
Santa Maria di Nazareth is the only church on the
Grand Canal with a façade in Carrara marble. The
precious stone provides material not only for the
statues but also for the entire facing of the surface,
which stands 26 metres high and 25 metres wide. To
designs by the architect Giuseppe Sardi, the facade
was constructed in the years 1672-1680, and was
the most expensive ever constructed in seventeenthcentury Venice. As for the decoration, this was the
work of such young sculptors as the brothers Orazio
and Angelo Marinali (who produced 12 of the 14
statues) and Heinrich Meyring (who sculpted the other
two: Cain and Abel).
This rich sculptural decoration shows meticulous
attention to detail, and is devised to form a
monumental four-part composition that expresses
the Triumph of the Virgin Mother. The lowest band
of decoration is a high basement of solid marble
carved with a celtic-cross motif; at the centre, three
steps lead up to the main doorway of the church. The
second band of decoration comprises twelve paired
columns with Corinthian capitals; the dynamic rhythm
of the facade is here marked by the inclusion of four
statues within individual niches: St. Sebastian and St.
Mary Magdalene (on the left), St. John the Baptist
and St. Margaret (on the right). In the third band of
the façade, a solid cornice supports a second row of
fours pairs of columns, again with niches. The largest
of these is at the centre, where – atop a tall pedestal
that is surmounted by a stepped pyramid – stands a
statue of the Madonna and Child. This is larger than
any of the other statues, emphasising the central place
of the Virgin Mary within the family of the Discalced
Carmelites, whose traditional motto is Totus marianus
est Carmelus [Carmel is entirely Marian].
In the two niches to the side stood statues of Faith (on
the left) and Hope (on the right); unfortunately, the
latter was destroyed when it smashed to the ground.
Completing this level of the facade are two further
statues, of St. Jerome and St. Bartholomew, placed
16
The use of precious
Carrara marble; the twenty
full columns combined
in pairs; the gilding that
was originally part of
the facade – all of these
are a clear evocation
of Classical Antiquity
and reflect the cultural
ideals that inspired the
seventeenth-century
Venetian aristocracy of
which the Counts Cavazza
were a part.
Above: façade of the Church of Santa Maria di Nazareth.
Opposite page: Orazio Maribali, Christ the Redeemer (statue from the façade).
at the far left and far right respectively.
The pediment that competes the façade
is centred around a tympanum with a
depressed arch containing the arms of
the Cavazza family, aristocratic patrons
of the church.
The upper edge of the pediment is also
adorned with statues: in the centre Christ
Blessing, to the right are Cain (showed
lying on one side) and Adam (upright); to
the left are Abel (again reclining) and Eve
(upright and holding two apples). The
inclusion within the façade design of a
total of fourteen statues – seven
free-standing, seven within niches –
suggests that the whole design was
inspired by a precise religious message:
Jesus Christ the Redeemer embodies full
communion with God, achievable
through the intercession of the Virgin and
saints.
17
The Nave
Beyond the double doors at the entrance, the interior
is a marvellous and captivating composition of
majesty and rich decoration. This is a single-aisle
church with six side chapels (the two in the centre
being the largest). The rectangular ground plan of the
large nave itself is of proportions that are very close
to those of the Golden Ratio: 45 m. long, 25 m. wide
and a maximum height of 24 m. The entire interior is
richly coloured, with frescoes, polychrome marbles
and gilded mouldings To allow such colour to achieve
its full effect, the design envisaged 14 large arched
windows with leaded lights; however, when Sardi’s
façade was built, a thermal window was bricked in.
The walls of the nave are faced with marmor luculleum,
a type of African marble used by the Romans, and
paired pilaster strips resting on Istrian stone basements
with composite capitals that have gilded details. There
are two levels of niches between these strips: the
seven lower ones contain statues of Apostles and the
Evangelists, whilst the second (smaller) ones house
twelve busts of the Doctors of the Church (said to have
been sculpted by Clemente Molli).
The magnificent nave then ends at three steps that
lead up to the presbytery, with the high alter and choir.
The paving is composed of red and white marble, and
there were once a total of sixty tombstones laid into
the floor; the remaining Latin inscriptions have often
Icon showing St. Mary of
Nazareth, to whom this
church is dedicated. The
Madonna is shown on
a throne formed by an
apple tree; on her breast
is a perfect mandorla
containing the image of
the Christ Child. Eight
small figures of prophets
surround the Virgin,
above whom is God the
Father. This icon was
originally placed on the
high altar, but then – in
1656 – was moved to the
front wall of Longhena’s
tempietto, where it
remains to this day.
Alongside: looking down the
nave towards the presbytery.
Opposite page: Ettore Tito,
The Council of Ephesus
(vault).
18
been rendered illegible by the passage
of time. Some of those tombstone were,
in fact, victims of the bomb dropped, in
October 1915, by an Austrian warplane.
The direct hit upon the church also totally
destroyed the roof, eliminating all trace of
the original barrel vaulting over the nave
and obliterating a priceless masterpiece:
the ceiling fresco of The Translation of
the Holy House of Loreto, an early work
(1743-45) by the young Giambattista
Tiepolo. This was, in fact, the largest
fresco that Tiepolo would ever paint
(measuring more than 500m2); the few,
large and small, fragments that were
salvaged from the destruction are now
housed in the Venice Accademia. The
commission to replace this lost work
19
ultimately went to Ettore Tito, a member of the Venice
Accademia delle Belle Arti, who in 1929-33 designed
and painted an enormous canvas (114 m2) with a
magnificent depiction of the Council of Ephesus, whose
fifteen-hundredth anniversary fell in 1931. The entire
interior thus remains a proclamation of the beauty of
the House of God, of the freedom of the artistic spirit
when it dedicates itself to the embellishment of that
house; when it expresses the greatness of the Christian
faith celebrated within it.
As one looks down the nave upon entering, to one’s
right one sees the pulpit. Attributed to Marchiori, this
is made of various kinds of marble; the four parapets
depict each of the Evangelists in the act of writing,
whilst the baldachin is borne up by two telamones. To
one’s back as one moves further into the church, the
inside of the façade contains the organ and the choir
loft (the latter also by Marchiori). There, three gilded
bas-reliefs depict the Blessed Virgin of Mount Carmel,
St. Teresa in Ecstasy and St. John of the Cross. The
parapet and gratings are decorated with gilded angels.
The Friars’ Choir
Preparatory sketch for
Giambattista Tiepolo’s
vault fresco of The
Translation of the Holy
House of Loreto, c. 1743.
The walls, vault and apse of the Choir are decorated
with frescoes by the Valeriani brothers, their sole work
in Venice. The walls have depictions of classical-style
structures with columns and niches, within which stand
monumental female figures symbolising the Theological
Virtues and the Evangelical Virtue of Humility. The
vault, on the other hand, is divided into four parts in
which four female figures, rendered in grisaille, are
shown seated against a yellow-gold background and
holding the symbols of the Cardinal Virtues. In the
apse, angels above massed clouds – some in colour,
some monochrome – move heavenwards; and in bowlshaped vault itself there is a dove, the symbol of the
Holy Spirit, taking flight beneath an image of God the
Father surrounded by groups of angels.
The choir is where that which is rendered elsewhere in
the church through sculpture finds expression in colour,
this transition from sculpture to painting occurring in
the space reserved for the Carmelite monks alone.
However, this is not a mark of a division but of
continuity, with a return to various themes and figures
depicted in the body of the building: angels, the glory
of the Trinity and the Theological Virtues. In effect, the
choir is a reiteration of these notions, for the friars who
spend various hours of the day here in prayer.
Above: details of the frescoes
in the choir.
Alongside: the Friars’ Choir.
Looking up the nave towards
the façade.
20
In the late years of the
twentieth century the
Venice Superintendence
for Fine Arts undertook
restoration of the frescoes
in the church presbytery
and choir. This was
very delicate work –
particularly in the cupola
– due to serious bomb
damage suffered in the
First World War.
21
The Presbytery and the High Altar
Longhena had designed a square-plan presbytery
for the church, as wide as the side chapels but
deeper; the space was to be dominated by a high
altar with a monumental octagonal tabernacle. When
he was succeded as architect by the Carmelite friar
Giuseppe Pozzo, the presbytery underwent substantial
transformation and what we see today dates from
around 1700; though definitely the fruit of the friar’s
visual imagination, the design could – according to
some art historians – have been inspired by the work of
Bernini, which Pozzo may have seen during his time in
Rome. The new layout aims to transform the presbytery
into an autonomous space built around a continual
flow of alternating convex and concave lines. As for
the cupola, it too was Pozzo’s work; replacing a cross
vault, it serves to create an impression of heavenward
movement above the high altar.
Three steps lead up from the nave to the presbytery,
with altar rails in marmor luculleum marking the
entrance to the space of the altar. The side walls, both
of which have two doorways, are adorned with four
pilaster strips in Red French marble with composite
capitals. Between these are three niches that contain
statues of Sibyls (a feature that is discussed below).
The high altar itself is raised above five steps in red
marble, and the altar frontal has four angels carved in
Carrara marble and holding symbols of the Eucharist
(grapes, manna, the lamb and ears of wheat). On a
high basement in red broccatello marble from Verona
are eight massive barley-twist columns faced with red
marble and ending in composite capitals; these bear
an imposing trabeation in polychrome marble. On the
sides, above the cymatium (cornice), are the reclining
figures of another two Sibyls; and at the centre of the
gable – set amidst gilded rays – is a statue of Christ
Blessing. On the basement itself, between the barleytwist columns, are statues of the two founders of the
Order of the Discalced Carmelites: St. Teresa of Avila (on
the left) and St. John of the Cross (on the right). Within
22
The statue of Christ
Blessing stands at the
centre of rays of gilded
wood atop the cornice of
the high altar. The Saviour
holds a terrestrial globe in
his left hand.
Alongside: the presbytery and
the high altar.
the central space stands a small tempietto
designed by Baldassare Longhena; the
front of this is adorned with a fifteenthcentury icon (Decor Carmeli) which
shows St. Mary of Nazareth, to whom the
church is dedicated, with various of the
biblical prophets whose words heralded
the birth of Christ.
The geometric floor is made up of a
pattern of white, black, yellow and red
marble; it also contains other tombstones
with Latin inscriptions. As for the cupola
fresco, this shows flights of angels in
glory and was the work of the brothers
Domenico and Giuseppe Valeriani; it
was painted during alteration work to
23
the presbytery area in the years 1707-1717, and – as
already mentioned – would undergo delicate restoration
work by the Venice Superintendence for Fine Arts
towards the end of the twentieth century.
the Delphic, Persian and Libyan Sibyls
(with the reclining Eritrean and Cumean
Sibyls above) – all considered to be the
work of Giuseppe Torretti. To the right,
following exactly the same distribution,
are the standing figures of the Samian,
Hellespontic and Tiburtian Sibyls, with
the reclining Cimmerian and Phrygian
Sibyls above – all considered to be the
work of the sculptor Giovanni Marchiori.
These, together with the two shown
reclining below the feet of Christ, make up
the full total of twelve, the same number
as the Apostles (whom they were said
to prefigure). Within the Church of the
Discalced Carmelites, the presence of
these figures is to be seen in relation to an
interpretation of their oracular utterances
as heralding the advent of Christ the
Redeemer, shown at the centre of the
entire composition. It indicates that the
Coming of Christ and the Incarnation
concern all humanity, irrespective of their
The iconography used in the side walls of the presbytery
is very interesting. To each side are four pilasters in
red French marble with composite capitals and three
‘blind’ windows that do not give onto an external
source of light. It is these which form the setting for
three statues of Sibyls (left and right of the altar), with
above them a further two (shown reclining above the
cymatium. These figures form a sort of extension to the
central iconostasis over the altar – which, as we have
seen, has two figures of Sibyls at the foot of Christ the
Redeemer. The presence of these prophetesses from
pagan mythology might be disconcerting for a casual
observer, left wondering why they are placed within a
presbytery, the most sacred area of a Christian church.
To understand this one should cite a work with regard to
the Sibyls which was written by Marsilio Ficino in 14631470 and would have a major influence on Renaissance
art in the fifteenth and sixteenth century. Such figures
would, in fact, be depicted by various painters: Perugino,
Ghirlandaio, Pinturicchio (who actually painted 12),
Raphael (who included them in his frescoes for the
Vatican Stanze) and Michelangelo (who painted the most
important sibyls as part of the decoration of the Sistine
Chapel). There was a long Christian tradition, particularly
within the Middle Ages, of interpreting the oracular
words of the sibyls as predictions of the coming of
Christ and the events in His life. It is this which explains
their presence within churches. Looking towards the
high altar, on one’s left are the three standing figures of
religion or the time in which they were
born. In each of the walls to the side of the
presbytery – beneath the central window
– two small windows have been created
with a balustrade in red marble. A feature
of particular interest is the small gallery
with cushions carved in Greek breccia,
drapery in marmor luculleum or Saravezza
marble and fringes carved in yellow
Verona marble; intended by Giuseppe
Pozzo to highlight the sacred nature of the
place, these cushions suggest the sort of
prie-dieu that might be used when hearing
the celebration of the Eucharist. On each
side, the space between the balustrade
and the small gallery holds the crest
of the Soranzo family, together with an
inscription that commemorates the main
benefactor of the entire church complex
– Benedetto Soranzo, Procuratore di San
Marco – and the Discalced Carmelite
fathers who carried out the requests made
in his last will and testament.
On the left: left wall of the presbytery (as one looks towards the high altar).
On the right: right wall of the presbytery (as one looks towards the high altar).
Above, in order: the Delphic
Sibyl (left wall of presbytery),
the Hellespontic Sibyl and
Tiburtine Sibyl (both right wall
of the presbytery).
Alongside: Sibyls on the
cornice (left wall).
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25
The Chapel of the Crucifixion
Located to the left of the nave, this is the chapel closest
to the entrance.
The figure of the crucified Christ and the bas-relief on
the altar front – which depicts Christ lowered to earth –
are both by the sculptor Giovanni Maria Morlaiter. The
Cross itself is in oriental jasper, the columns and the
pilasters are in green thessalian stone from Genoa, and
the niche is in Greek cipollino marble.
Restored in 1972, the vault fresco was painted in 1732
by Giambattista Tiepolo and is a very moving account
of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane succoured by
Angels. The walls are decorated with eighteenth-century
style stucco-work, with two pictures in the centre: on
the left, St. Joseph and the Christ Child about to be
kissed by St. Anthony of Padua; on the right, St. Francis
succoured by an angel after receiving the Stigmata.
Small sacraria here contain reliquaries of the True Cross
and the Crown of Thorns.
Detail of Tiepolo’s
vault with an image of
Christ. The saviour is
in grisaille work (hence
monochrome) whilst the
angels and putti around
Him are in colour.
On the ledge is an urn containing an Ecce Homo
in coloured wax – a Flemish work dating from the
seventeenth century. Finally, the inscription on the
tombstone recalls the donations from the aristocratic
families of the Gussoni and the Lumaga which had
made the building of this chapel possible.
Alongside: Giambattista
Tiepolo, the vault of the
chapel.
Opposite page: view of the
Chapel of the Crucifixion.
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27
The Chapel of the Holy Family
Designed by friar Giuseppe Pozzo, this is the central
chapel on the left-hand side of the nave.
The entire space is a triumphant expression of the
baroque, with a profusion of polychrome marble used to
depict angels, drapery, festoons with fruit and flowers,
and symbols of the sun and the moon – the entire work
sculpted by various artists. These different features
overlap and combine to form areas of chiaroscuro
around the four columns in Carrara marble faced with
red French marble; these support a fanciful composition
in marble, under which stands the sculptural group of
The Holy Family that gives the chapel its name; most
critics agree this is the work of Heinrich Meyring rather
than Giuseppe Torretti. One statue that is certainly by the
latter is the figure of St. Michael the Archangel standing
at the centre of the right-hand wall; the Archangel
Gabriel on the opposite wall is said to be by Antonio
Tarsia. The ceiling fresco is by Louis (Ludovico) Dorigny
and celebrates the workings of the Holy Spirit, here
symbolised by a dove surrounded by flying angels.
Venice’s last doge –
Ludovico Manin (in office
1789-1797; died 1802)
– was the main donor
for this chapel; he and
members of his family
are buried at the foot of
the altar.
This is why this chapel is
also known as the “Manin
Chapel”.
The altar front has four putti holding festoons of fruit
and flowers, whilst the small side galleries have drapery
carved in green thessalian marble. The four (fake) doors
in the side walls are also in marble. The altar has four
large candlesticks. The two outer ones are in marble,
the other two – to the sides of the altar steps – are
Alongside: the vault of the
Chapel of the Holy Family.
Chapel of the Holy Family.
28
eighteenth-century Murano work in
turquoise glass with incised decorative
motifs and twisted strips of engraved
silver-plated copper; they were a gift
presented to the Discalced Carmelite
fathers by a local antique dealer.
29
The Chapel of St. Sebastian
The chapel nearest to the high altar on the left-hand
side of the nave, this was designed by Baldassare
Longhena, but most of the work was carried out by
Bernardo Falconi.
The statue of the eponymous saint in the centre is
in Carrara marble and stands between two pairs of
columns in basanite (also known as “Belgian black”),
which have capitals and basements modelled in
bronze. The altar front has bronze panels that depict the
martyrdom, burial and ascent into glory of the saint.
These are all the work of Bernardo Falconi, whose
name is inscribed on the base of the statue.
The walls and vault are faced with geometric patterns
in different marbles (basanite, French red and Genoese
verd antique) and lapis lazuli, all of which gives the
chapel a sombre, funereal atmosphere. Indeed,
beneath the floor of the chapel are the tombs of Luigi
Venier and his son, Monsignor Sebastiano Venier, who
was papal protonotary. Both men were donors who
made the creation of the chapel possible; their busts in
marble, together with the Venier crest and identifying
inscriptions, can be seen on the side walls. The four
doors in those two walls are masterpieces of intarsia
work, with mother-of-pearl and other semi-precious
stones being used to depict exotic birds and flowers in
a technique known as mosaico fiorentino.
A detail of the side wall of
the chapel.
On this page: details of the
intarsia work on the door.
Chapel of St. Sebastian.
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31
The Chapel of St. John the Baptist
Designed by Baldassare Longhena, this – the first
chapel in the church to be completed – is the one
nearest the high altar on the right-hand side of the
nave.
The statue of the saint stands within a niche cut like
a cliff face; it is signed at the base with the name of
Melchiorre Bartel. The balustrade, floor, altar-front
and the four columns to the side of the niche are all
in basanite and serve to give the interior a solemn yet
harmonious tone. And on the cymatium above are the
reclining figures of two prophets, with a small upright
angel between them. The vault has a painting by Pietro
Liberi depicting God the Father holding the World.
A detail of the side wall of
the chapel.
On the walls are other decorative features and two
inscriptions commemorating the donor for this chapel,
Giambattista Moro, who is buried beneath the altar. The
four doors are faced with embossed copper panels
adorned with floral motifs and putti.
Alongside: statue of St. John
the Baptist (detail of side
view).
Chapel of St. John the Baptist.
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33
The Chapel of St. Teresa of Avila
Designed by friar Giuseppe Pozzo – with the
collaboration of architect Antonio Gaspari – this is the
central chapel on the right-hand side of the nave.
Compared to the other chapel designed here by the
Carmelite father (the Holy Family Chapel), this is in a
more sober architectural style. The marble group of the
saint in ecstasy and the angel wielding a spear is the
work of Heinrich Meyring, as are the two angels set
between the columns of French red marble. The episode
depicted in the central group is also known as the
Transverberation of St. Teresa, the founding mother of
the Order of Discalced Carmelites. Above the architrave
is a cymatium at the centre of which a marble tondo
contains a depiction of The Trinity flanked by Angels;
above it are other decorative features, including the
crest of the Discalced Carmelites. The altar table itself is
borne up by four putti, whilst the altar front is decorated
on each side with bunches of flowers in mosaico
fiorentino. At the centre is another piece of marble
marquetry work, depicting St. Teresa as a Doctor of
the Catholic Church; a scroll bears her famous motto
Aut pati aut mori (Suffer or Die – in the sense “either
die in order to see God or suffer by serving him without
enjoying a full vision of Him”).
The vault fresco is the work of a young Giambattista
Tiepolo (painted in 1724) and shows St. Teresa in
Glory, rising to heaven where an Angel holds out to
her a crown of laurel. Note that the saint is wearing
the habit of a Carmelite nun: a brown tunic, white
cowl and black veil. On the left, two large female
figures in grisaille-work are shown reclining on a
fake cymatium; they represent Hope and Faith, while
the figure symbolising Charity is shown on the right.
Three tombstones are set into the floor of the chapel.
That in the centre is the tomb of Venice’s 113th doge,
Carlo Ruzzini (in office from 1732 to 1735); to either
side are the tombs of noblewomen belonging to the
Congregation of St. Teresa.
34
On the side walls of the
chapel are two large
canvases by Nicolò
Bambini. The one on
the right depicts the
dangerous journeys
undertaken by St. Teresa,
who founded many
monasteries in sixteenthcentury Spain. On the
left, the painting shows a
magnificent architectural
setting within which one
sees the miracle of the
communion host flying
directly from the priest’s
hands into the saint’s
mouth.
Above: view of the Chapel of St. Teresa of Avila.
35
The Chapel of St. John of the Cross
Designed by the painter Ludovico David, this is the
chapel nearest the entrance on the right-hand side of
the nave.
Four massive columns of precious ardesia marble
(from Switzerland) with composite capitals in Carrara
marble flank a wide niche backed with jasper, within
which stands Bernardo Falconi’s statue of the saint.
The very first Discalced Carmelite is shown kneeling
on a cloud, his eyes raised ecstatically towards the
Holy Trinity. From above left an Angel hands down
the Cross (devotion to which gave the Carmelite saint
his name), whilst on the right another angel holds the
Crown of Thorns. Two chubby angels by Bernardo
Tabacco are shown venerating a oval tabernacle that
contains reliquaries of the saint. The angels to the side
of the altar table, however, are by Tomaso Ruer. At the
very top of the altar are the three Theological Virtues:
the figure on the right with the anchor is Hope, that on
the left with putti held to its breast, is Charity, whilst the
figure in the centre holding a chalice is Faith.
The vaulted ceiling is faced with marble and decorated
with square panels containing eight-pointed gilded
stars. The side walls, too, are faced with marble
and bears two Latin inscriptions that commemorate
the patrons who financed the chapel: three Counts
Giovanelli, whose tombs are located below the
three altar steps. The two ovals in jasper – now
badly corroded by salt water – were once stolen by
Napoleon’s troops but then returned thanks to the
good offices of Antonio Canova. The altar-rails are
also in jasper, whilst the four side doors are in wood
with marquetry floral motifs; the first door on the right
leads through to the room that contains the tombsarcophagus of the painter Ettore Tito.
36
Two of the angels that
adorn the chapel.
Above: view of the Chapel of St. John of the Cross.
37
The Monastery
Garden
The Monastery Garden
The Garden: Layout and Meaning
The garden as one now sees it is the result of close
collaboration between the religious community living in
the Venetian monastery and the architect Giorgio Forti –
a collaboration which has enabled the restored garden
to realise its full potential as an instrument of pastoral
care, reflecting the religious principles that have always
inspired the Discalced Carmelites.
In effect, the Garden is part of an indissoluble
trinity with the church and the monastery. It also
commemorates the very origins of the Order, for its holy
founders – St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross
– stressed the friars’ historical and spiritual links with
the Latin anchorites who had settled on Mount Carmel.
Cited repeatedly in the Bible, Karmel is a Hebrew word
meaning “the garden of God” – hence, by extension, is
a synonym for the Earthly Paradise.
So, while not turning its back on conservation of
the physical form the space had acquired over the
centuries, the entire restoration project also focused
upon the mystical and symbolic meaning of the garden
in reference to the Christian religion. The goal was to
make the garden into a sort of innovative catechism for
the modern world. Through a reading of nature and its
symbolism, the aim was to reflect the content of the
Catholic religion and specific features of the Order of the
Discalced Carmelites, which has been profoundly linked
with Christian mysticism since its very foundation.
In the Song of Songs,
the hair of the beloved
is compared to Mount
Carmel: “Thy head upon
thee is like Carmel.”
Song of Songs 7, 6
“The desert shall be as a
Carmel, and Carmel shall
be counted for a forest.
And judgment shall dwell
in the wilderness, and
justice shall sit in Carmel.”
Isaiah 32, 15-17
“The land that was
desolate and impassable
shall be glad, and the
wilderness shall rejoice,
and shall flourish like the
lily. It shall bud forth and
blossom, and shall rejoice
with joy and praise: the
glory of Libanus is given
to it: the beauty of Carmel,
and Saron, they shall see
the glory of the Lord, and
the beauty of our God.”
Isaiah 35, 1-2
It should be pointed out that this “catechism” also
draws inspiration from the love of nature that finds
so many expressions in contemporary
society, in which one sees various
forms of environmentalism. At the same
time, it embodies a search that is purely
metaphysical – that is, it strives towards
what lies beyond the human and the
visible, towards all that which defeats
rational explanation. Often such striving
becomes confused and subjective,
mixing together a range of conflicting
philosophical or religious notions that
are irreconcilable with each other. When
this happens, it results in the sham
of the sacred one sees in such “neospiritual” movements as theosophy,
anthroposophy, spiritism, occultism and
para-psychology. At best, each of these
does nothing but juxtapose features from
different sources, forcing them into some
sort of entirely human construct. Such
pseudo-religions exploit and distort ideas
and symbols from different religious
traditions, with the result that their
confused adepts fall victim to occultists
and sorcerers of various kinds. It is,
therefore, the task of the Catholic religion
to re-appropriate “the symbolic” as an
expression within the world of the senses
of the reality which actually lies beyond it;
as an immediate form of communication
for transmitting a message of profound
truth. Symbols are, in effect, the language
for expressing knowledge of the sacred.
They are images that re-awaken the
deeper energies within our physical
being; without negating reason – indeed,
by raising it to the achievement of its full
splendour – they enable us to take a leap
beyond the dimension of the rational. In
other words, reality becomes a symbol,
and the symbol becomes reality. Symbols
are not the same thing as that which
they represent; however, they do provide
assistance in understanding spiritual
reality. The realisation of their powerful
significance, therefore, was what
underlay a restoration and renovation
project predicated upon the desire to
enable this space to develop its potential
as a “mystic garden”.
Below: the ground plan of the entire complex of the monastery of the Discalced Carmelites.
Opposite page: view from the south-west (above) and north-east (below) of the garden of the
Discalced Carmelites.
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41
The Garden as Part of the Architectural Heritage of the Discalced Carmelites
The approach that inspired the restoration and
renovation of the garden fully reflects ideas that are
part of the architectural heritage of the Discalced
Carmelites. In fact, as the new Order spread
throughout Italy in the late sixteenth and early
seventeenth century, one sees it reflect two aspects
of contemporary culture: on the one hand, it moved
beyond the classical rigour that was to be seen in
Spanish culture, and on the other it turned towards the
new influences that were to be seen in European art (in
particular, those that reflected the incipient emergence
of the Baroque).
The reformation of the Order inspired by St. Teresa
of Avila had focussed upon spiritual rigour and
full attention to the contemplative life. Hence the
early works of architecture commissioned by the
Order reflected concerns with religious discipline,
solitude, introspection and an abstraction from the
surrounding world – in effect, the very things that
had been characteristic of early anchorite settlements
in the deserts of Palestine, Syria and Egypt. One
should also bear in mind that, thanks to a special
concession from the Emir of Acre, the Order had, in
1632-34, actually regained access to Mount Carmel
itself, constructing there a small rural monastery
designed by Father Prospero dello Santo Spirito.
Such models of solitary retreat would then remain
active in Europe, generating a specific figurative and
architectural language (which in Spanish is actually
referred to as l’estilo carmelitano). One of the factors
that led to the emergence of a style specific to the
A monastery needs a fine
panorama more than it
needs a splendid location.
And, if possible, it should
also have a garden.”
In her description of
the religious house at
Salamanca, the saint
writes: “The position is
very beautiful and the
building can be extended
[…] The church, too, is
pretty. However, what
matters most is the
position: for that I would
willingly do without some
of the buildings.”
In another letter she
observes: “When the
position is good, I am
willing to pay up to a third
more; indeed, sometimes
I have even paid a half
more. The position of a
monastery is so important
that it is madness to
haggle over the price.
For the water and the
panorama of the location
in some places I would
give much more than for
the monastery alone.”
From the Letters of St.
Teresa of Avila.
The Garden of the Discalced Carmelites
Order was the extensive presence within
it of a number of men with technical
expertise; it was they who initially
caused the specific characteristics of
the Carmelite Monastery to take clear
form, and then it would be they who
enable that style to absorb features of
the Baroque. It is within this context
that one can understand the role of friar
Giuseppe Pozzo, the Carmelite friar who
in 1694 would redesign the high altar
and some of the side chapels in the
Order’s Venetian church. Without going
into the specific architectural issues
raised by the church and monastery,
one must point out the importance of
the sites chosen for the new Carmelite
monasteries – that is, their inclusion
within a specific environmental and
urban fabric. St. Teresa had repeatedly
stressed as fundamentally important
that the site not only be healthy but also
that it be a location that afforded views
and quality of landscape. Such a notion
clearly reflected the so-called “theology
of gardens”, which envisaged gardens
themselves as an instrument of spiritual
teaching, with the pathways through the
natural environment being a metaphor for
the interior pathways that brought one
closer to heaven.
All of this meant that “great symbolic
significance was attributed to the
planning of greenery and stretches of
water, to the inclusion of gardens within
Carmelite monastery complexes.”
New and specific features were thus
introduced into the long tradition of
European religious houses, inspired
by the character of sites in the Holy
Land. And at the same time, the
Baroque brought with it the goal of
making architecture one with its natural
setting. In effect, Carmelite religious
houses attributed profound allegorical
significance to territory itself, something
which is intrinsically linked with the
origin of the name “Karmel” and to the
fact that the garden of each Carmelite
monastery is understood as a “land
of delights”. Introduci vos in terram
Carmeli ut comederetis fructum eius
et bona illius (Jeremiah 50,19) is the
Latin translation of the Book of Jeremiah
which St. John of the Cross drew upon
in developing his mystical concept of
the “ascent to Mount Carmel”. This
place thus represented the physical
and transcendental goal of the ascesis
pursued in a contemplative life. It is no
coincidence that the monasteries of the
Discalced Carmelites rarely envisaged
the building of cloisters. While for other
monastic Orders, it was the cloister
that embodied the earthly paradise,
the Carmelites preferred to see such
transfiguration in an actual garden.
The teachings of the Order’s founder
are thus reflected in the layout of the
Venetian monastery. The vast area of
ground purchased from the Venetian
nobleman Vincenzo Venier in 1649
actually ended with a wide panoramic
This page: the ruins of the first
Carmelite monastery on Mount
Carmel.
Opposite page: the gardens
of the Baha’i World Centre
in Haifa recall the ancient
splendour of Mount Carmel.
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43
view over the whole of the lagoon; and at the other
end of the site, the façade of the church formed part
of a continuous line of religious buildings that ran
along the Santa Lucia waterfront (then a peripheral
stretch of the Grand Canal). Over time, however, the
entire area around the church would see a number
of projects which first aimed to repair/extend existing
religious houses and then – after the period of
Napoleonic rule – to replace them with a number of
different infrastructures. The first of these was the
rail line linking Venice to the mainland (1846), which
was followed in 1860 by the construction of the large
train station – projects which envisaged the complete
demolition of the church and convent of Santa Lucia.
But there was also work to construct new bridges over
the Grand Canal: the first Ponte degli Scalzi dates from
as early as 1934, whilst the latest addition – Santiago
Calatrava’s Ponte della Costituzione – was opened as
recently as 2008. Such work had a decisive influence
not only upon the direction of pedestrian traffic within
the city but also upon the way in which the church,
garden and monastery fitted into the surrounding
urban fabric. What had once been an outlying area
of the city had gradually became the very opposite.
Nowadays, in fact, the church is the sole survivor of a
system of religious buildings and houses, the rest of
which have gone forever. What has taken their place
are new streets (for example, Strada Nuova), new
bridges and new service structures – all of which have
“Let us remember our
holy Fathers of past days,
the hermits whose lives
we attempt to imitate.
What sufferings they
bore, what solitude, cold,
[thirst] and hunger, what
burning sun and heat! And
yet they had no one to
complain to except God.
Do you suppose they were
made of iron? No: they
were as frail as we are.
Believe me, daughters,
once we begin to subdue
these miserable bodies of
ours, they give us much
less trouble. There will
be quite sufficient people
to see to what you really
need, so take no thought
for yourselves except
when you know it to be
necessary. Unless we
resolve to put up with
death and ill-health once
and for all, we shall never
accomplish anything.”
St. Teresa of Avila, The
Way of Perfection, 11,4
turned the location of the Scalzi from an
urban backwater into a strategic traffic
node. Along with this process of urban
transformation, one must also consider
the buildings that were created on the
far side of Rio della Crea (backing onto
the garden wall itself and looking out
over Calle Priuli dei Cavaletti), together
with the fact that around half of the
monastery’s garden was expropriated
during the construction of the railway
station. The garden as it presently
exists, therefore, is only a small part of
a vast area of greenery that once had
an important role as pure landscape,
enabling the monastic community to
preserve a fruitful relationship with the
‘outside’ world (understood in the widest
possible sense as the ‘world of nature’).
There is no doubt, therefore, that the
original Venetian monastery fully met
the criteria laid down by St. Teresa of
Avila, who – as has been pointed out
– included amongst the few essential
requirements of any site for a new
monastery that it should be healthy,
afford views out over the world and have
a garden. The architectural distribution
of the monastery is thus integrally bound
up with the layout of its green spaces.
Indeed, the modest but original ‘rural’
facilities within the complex are some
of the most highly significant features
of the monastery, in the sense that
they evoke the caves of Mount Carmel
inhabited by the early anchorites. At the
same time, one should stress that the
garden was also a means of enabling the
monastery to be self-sufficient in food
supplies, this being both a “garden” and
a “vegetable garden”. Of course, it now
on longer has the role it played when
land was practically the sole source of
wealth possessed by the monastery.
But though ever smaller plots of land are
required to meet the monastery’s food
needs, it is still true that what remains
of the original layout of the whole site
reflects the Discalced Carmelites’
profound sensitivity to nature.
This page: detail from a postcard showing the old railway station and the first iron bridge in front of
the Scalzi church.
Opposite page: detail from a View of Venice by Matheus Marian, 1635.
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45
The Formal Characteristics of the Garden
The Enclosing Walls
From its very beginning, the garden was surrounded
by a high wall that delimited the perimeter; binding
the open space closely together with the ChurchMonastery complex, this wall also clearly separated
the cultivated land within from the uncultivated areas
beyond. The creation of such divisions seems to be
a deeply-seated human need. However, while the
construction of a wall may offer the guarantee of a
safe, protected space, it also breaks the mystical
continuity between humankind and Nature. This loss of
what Leopardi called the “endless and superb room” of
Nature means that man begins to experience that act
of separation – which, in itself, was a creative gesture
– as an expression of violence. It is this which leads
people to highlight in the space around their dwelling all
the beauty of which it is capable; to recover – in both a
literal and symbolic sense – everything that has been
lost. Hence, within the enclosure of a house one finds
the inclusion of fragments of open space (courts) and
gardens (fragments of nature). Both physical realities
and symbols, such fragments enable man to vary the
rich combination of different spaces within an interior
– an enclosed habitat – making it in some way similar
to the open spaces of Nature. All of this is expressed
with even greater force when the “enclosed garden” in
question is an integral part of a Carmelite monastery,
a complex which is also an integral part of the urban
fabric of Venice itself. Indeed, when one compares
this garden with the city’s other historic gardens, one
The presence of
so many gardens and
vegetable gardens in
Venice was due to the
fact that in wartime the
city could not depend
upon supplies from the
mainland. The first such
gardens were, therefore,
mainly vegetable plots,
with a small flower bed;
the lack of sharp division
between the two purposes
would be a feature of
gardens in the city. The
only vegetable gardens
to survive nowadays
are in monasteries (at Il
Redentore, San Francesco
alla Vigna and San Michele
in Isola); however, on the
island of Sant’Erasmo
there are extensive
vegetable gardens that
still supply the city’s Rialto
market and greengrocers.
“A garden is not a
place beyond the world.
It is a place that gives
access to Paradise, but it
can be paradise in itself.”
St. John of the Cross
sees immediately that the walls are in a
form that was typical of such enclosures
within Venice. Originally, such barriers
had been in grisiole: woven panels of
reeds that, over wide spaces, provided a
very efficient defence against wind and
water erosion. However, this wood-andcane fencing was gradually replaced with
more solid constructions in brick; such
walls are still a feature of the “syntax”
of Venice, which emerged as buildings
spread alongside waterways and
pedestrian streets, forming a cadenced
composition of open and enclosed
spaces.
At the same time, the Carmelite garden
inevitably echoes those monastery
gardens which, since the Early Middle
Ages, had been inspired by the
symbolism of the various gardens to be
found in the Bible – for example, in the
Book of Genesis, the Gospels, the Book
of Revelations and, in particular, The
Song of Songs. The Hortus Conclusus in
the latter had, by the Late Middle Ages,
become both a courtly and a religious
ideal, and thus biblical references to such
spaces had a clear influence upon the
way gardens were interpreted. Within
monasteries, for example, the hortus
conclusus became the garden of the
spirit, the enclosing wall symbolising
that ritual delimitation that renders a
place sacred. And Medieval poetry
often exploited the belief that in an
enclosed and inaccessible space Nature
might regain the purity it had had at
the Creation. Such spaces, therefore,
became a symbolic expression in
miniature of the “Garden of Gardens”,
the Earthy Paradise. Moving beyond the
concept of the garden which was part of
Eastern culture – that is, the garden as
solely a place of beauty and delight – this
new concept also allowed for a practical
aspect to gardens: no longer just a
place of flowers, they were also used
for the vegetable plots, orchards and
herb gardens that provided a religious
community with food.
The Garden of the Discalced Carmelite
monastery was, therefore, a place where
man could produce his daily sustenance
and also discover the true relation
between himself, Nature and God. In
effect, it was a means whereby human
experience could be expressed as both
engagement with Nature and a journey
towards spiritual perfection.
This page: the monastery garden before
restoration.
Opposite page: the monastery complex
highlighted in an image from Bing Maps.
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47
The Courtyard
The Transitional Space
The garden of the Carmelite monastery has all the
characteristics of the gardens in Venice’s aristocratic
palazzi: not only is it enclosed by a high brick wall, it
also has such key architectural features as a courtyard.
This latter played an essential role in the organisation of
the architectural space itself – it was where a number
of the daily activities of the palazzo were performed
– but it also served as the link between the building and
the open space beyond.
In the case of the Monastery of the Discalced
Carmelites, it was not only the monastery proper that
gave onto the courtyard but also an old farm building;
this was originally linked with work in the garden
itself and its presence thus emphasised the integral
connection between the components of the complex.
In 2010 that old farm building was restored and
became the Centro Scalzi, now used for pastoral
activities.
Fittingly, once the building that had marked the link
between the monastery and garden became a facility
for the Carmelites’ engagement with the outside world,
the same happened with the garden itself.
The Wellhead
The courtyard is paved with trachyte slabs and in the
centre stands a well. The presence of such a feature
within a monastery takes on a certain symbolic
significance: in his commentary of The Song of Songs,
St. Bernard of Clairvaux sees the well of wisdom as a
symbol of Christ and of the four rivers of Paradise. As
the restoration work on the nearby farm building
showed, this well was once supplied from a cistern
that collected rainwater.
Prior to 1885, when water mains were installed in the
city, a network of more than 6,000 (public and private)
wells existed Venice, some supplied with underground
spring water, some – like this one – depending upon
the rainwater that drained from the gutters of
surrounding houses.
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“Around the roof there is
guttering in stone from
which the rainwater runs
down by hidden pipe into
wells, where it is purged
of the coarse matter in it
and is once more of use
to people. […] Cisterns
are used because the
water within them is
healthier and easier to
digest than the crude,
flowing water […] The
city is amply supplied with
these wells and cisterns,
both public and private.”
From E. Sansovino,
Venetia Città Noblissima
Beyond the court is a transitional space
that serves as the entrance to the garden
proper. Its purpose is to modulate the
separation between the two main areas
of open space, which can never be
grasped in a single glance but becomes
perceptible through a rigidly defined
sequence.
In this sense, this transitional space
never forms a sharp separation but
rather serves to maintain continuity
of perception, linking the defined
components of the space; it is, in effect,
a green space that is a continuation of
the courtyard, which itself is seen as
a continuation of the main entrance.
Though not specific to the garden of
this monastery, such an articulated
layout satisfies two needs: protecting the
garden from “high water”, which might
flood the green spaces and damage
the delicate species cultivated there;
providing the opportunity for a raised
ground level, which means that the soil
is deeper and thus plants (particularly
trees) have more ground into which they
can extend their roots without the risk of
coming into contact with the brackish
terrain beneath.
In the Carmelite monastery this
transitional space is marked out by
square columns of Istrian stone, linked
by railings that do not interrupt visual
perception of the garden beyond.
A change in the spacing between these
columns highlights the presence of two
side entrances into that garden, which
reflect the layout of the paths within it.
This page:
four images of the transitional space before
the restoration work, highlighting the suitable
kiwi tree that blocked visual continuity
between the courtyard and the garden.
Opposite page:
Above: the courtyard with the wellhead and
the Centro Scalzi.
Below: the wellhead.
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The parterre
Perspective Axis
Since the restoration work, the garden has a parterre
that draws upon features of the formal Italian Garden,
with a geometrical pattern in which components – and
their organisation – often reflects an urban layout of
space (rather like the groundplan for the foundation of
a city).
The creation of this layout was, in part, inspired by
formal features of the original garden recognisable
in some eighteenth/nineteenth-century maps, which
show flowerbeds with the sort of organisation that
Sebastian Serlio had proposed in the fourth of his
Sette Libri dell’Architettura (published in Venice in
1537). The division of the parterre envisaged the
creation of seven such plant beds, most rectangular in
form; at the very centre of layout is an eighth, circular,
bed with a pomegranate tree, symbolically associated
with the Tree of Life.
On a single level, without terracing, the parterre is
thus composed of a basic rectangular “cell” in which
components of different sizes are organised in patterns
based upon repeated and individual features.
Such layouts were typical of Venice, given that the
restricted space available within the city did not allow
for large divisions nor for the play on perception that
might have been created by the use of terracing.
Instead, garden layouts had to be based upon the
repetition of geometrical forms within a network of
paths. This is why the parterre is substantially twodimensional, with the sole vertical features being the
taller plants themselves (fruit trees, etc.).
On the western edge of the site, there are a further
three compartments. Though only ‘slices’ of a full
rectangle, these are not to be seen as a leftover space
but rather as a remainder of what the layout of the
garden was like before the construction of the train
station wall in 1861.
The path which is on the left as one
looks towards the garden nowadays was
once intended to be the central axis,
offering a vista that culminated in the
Chapel of the Madonna and, to a lesser
extent, the water-gate giving onto the
lagoon. Here, it should be pointed out
that it was very common for Venetian
gardens to have a such gateway leading
directly onto a canal: the old dialogue in
the city between land and water had
existed for centuries, and at such points
of access it found fitting expression, here
generating a composition that ran along
the main perceptive axis through the
garden right up to the entrance of the
palazzo itself.
However, in this specific case, greater
attention was placed on the sacred
nature of the site, with the perspective
axis focussing on the Chapel of the
Madonna rather than upon the sea
gateway alongside. Without in any way
50
overturning the Renaissance layout of
the garden, this concept reflects the
handling of spatial organisation that was
typical of the Baroque ideas prevailing at
the time: thanks to progress in the
understanding of perspective, it was
possible to link areas of space in a more
dynamic fashion, creating scenographic
vistas which played upon visual
impressions to generate a less static
relation between buildings and adjoining
spaces. From the architectural point of
view, this seems to be the one
concession made to the Baroque style
here: overall, the garden maintained the
layout typical of an “Italian Garden”,
which aimed for a sort of architectural
order in which forms and shapes were
arranged according to geometric laws.
In fact, the Renaissance garden was
inspired by an ideal of beauty based
upon the harmony of individual parts,
with proportions based upon reference
to a single measure. In this sense, the
geometry that had been at the basis of
the construction of a house or palazzo
was extended to include the garden
itself. The open-air “rooms” that make
up the latter were laid out along a main
axis (main entrance, villa, far end of
garden), which was then cut across by
secondary axes.
In such gardens, the spatial narrative was
built upon a number of linear sequences
in which there was also a complex
interplay of the senses. Often that
narrative might hinge around a single axis
or, as in this case, have two axes.
Above: layout of plant beds
in S. Serlio, Sette Libri di
Architettura, Book IV.
Centre: historic map of the
site, Paganuzzi, 1821.
Below: plan of the site, with
the new layout of the parterre.
Alongside: photo montage from the
restoration project, showing the perspective
axis that frames the Chapel of the Madonna.
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The Layout of the Pathways
The Hortus Semplicium
and Lemon Balm
The organisation of pathways was of fundamental
importance in the gradual emergence of the typical
“Venetian Garden”; it was the primary layout within
which one distributed the different flowerbeds, trees
and shrubs, together with all other features of garden
decoration.
In the case of the Venetian garden, the main avenue
linked the entrance to the palazzo courtyard and then
to the water-gate giving onto the canal, thus creating
a symmetrical division of the garden space. Generally,
the secondary paths were at right angles to this
principal axis, defining the main sections of the garden
layout, which might then be further divided by low
hedges (in boxwood or sweet marjoram) or by lines of
bricks (in most cases set into the ground upright).
As the garden became a more refined space, the
pathways were covered over with pergolas and
berceaux. Sometimes this pergola might run along the
main axis of the garden, thus defining how the space
was to be used; in other cases, such pergolas might
be created along the side walls, thus not affecting the
vista formed by the layout which ran from the main
courtyard, via rows of statues, pots of citrus trees or
espaliers of roses, to the architectural features that
marked the end of the garden. In the Carmelite garden,
the two longitudinal axes differed from the others in
having iron pergolas over which grapevines are trained.
The specific feature of this layout is that it exploits the
advantage of the areas that are exposed to the full heat
of the midday sun while also providing shadow that
preserves the moisture in the soil (thus preventing the
grapes from withering due to lack of water). In the case
of covering over side alleys, pergolas make it possible
to take advantage of direct sunlight on surfaces that
otherwise would not be used.
From a symbolic point
of view, the two pergolas
act as baldachins that not
only underline the sacred
significance of water but
also the dignity of Christ,
as symbolised by the
vines themselves. Christ
is thus also represented
as affording protection;
as Virgil says in his
Eclogues (IX, 42) lentae
texunt umbracula vites
[the flexible vines weave
light shade]. Such shade
is both the protection
afforded by Christ and a
symbol of the intercession
of the Virgin, rendered
visible in the umbriculum
of climbing roses in front
of her chapel.
whose regulations [Capitolare] it was
made clear not only that their work was
under State supervision but also that
severe laws guaranteed the quality of
the medicinal preparations they sold:
up to that point, scientific precision was
often indistinguishable from alchemy or
magic. As a result, Venetian apothecaries
became renowned throughout Europe for
the preparations over whose sale they
enjoyed a monopoly: amongst these
one might mention Aceto dei Quattro
Ladri [Four Thieves’ Vinegar], which was
used against the plague; Cavalmarin;
Elettuario or Dialonga (derived from
ancient Arabic pharmacopeia); Olio di
Santa Giustina [St. Giustina Oil], used
to treat cases of the worm; Scorpion
Oil; and what was known as Polvere
della Comare [Old Biddy’s Powder].
However, Venice’s worldwide fame in this
area was due primarily to its renowned
Theriac, a medicament which was also
produced in a number of other cities:
in Rome, it was made by the Discalced
Carmelites themselves – in particular,
Father Basilio della Concezione, at the
monastery of Santa Maria della Scala. In
fact, it was common for the monasteries
of the Discalced Carmelites to produce
medicinal herbs: at the Sant’Anna
monastery in Genoa – which was built
around 1584 and was thus the Order’s
first foundation in Italy (coming just 20
It should not be forgotten that the
Carmelite garden also takes up the
traditional features of the hortus
semplicium – that is, the “garden of
simples” which takes its name from
the Medieval Latin term for medicinal
herbs: medicamentum or medicinia
simplex. This is not simply due to the
fact that it was traditional for medieval
monasteries to grow and conserve
medicinal plants; it also reflects the
presence of numerous private herb
gardens in Venice from the sixteenth
century onwards. These gardens of
simples might be found attached to
urban palazzi or aristocratic country
villas and were “scientific laboratories”
where gardeners experimented with the
cultivation of unknown plants imported
from the East, which might then be used
for therapeutic purposes. It was the
growing interest in such experiments that
would, in 1545, lead to the foundation
of the Garden of Simples in Padua
University, home to the oldest botanical
garden in the world. It should also be
pointed out that as early as the thirteenth
century, Venetian speziali [apothecaries]
were protected by their own guild, in
Opposite page: design sketches of the
pergola, highlighting the use of rusted and
treated iron that can age in keeping with the
historic material around it.
Alongside: watercolour design sketch showing
a friar picking medicinal herbs.
52
53
years or so after St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of
Cross had created this new family within the Carmelites
of Spain) – we know that there was, and still is, an
old apothecary’s shop that produces natural remedies
based upon medicinal herbs. Fully aware that the health
of the soul should go together with the health of the
body, the monks in Venice also undertook this activity,
ultimately becoming famous throughout the world for
their lemon balm water.
They began cultivating this plant in 1710, when a
Discalced Carmelite friar introduced the process for
distilling lemon balm water that had been devised
by the Discalced Carmelites of Rue de Vaugirard in
Paris in 1611; thanks to its antispasmodic properties,
this had become a very popular remedy used by all
classes of society against such spasms (toothache,
syncopes, anxiety, etc.) However, while the Paris
recipe did actually use Melissa Officinalis – that is,
lemon balm proper – the Venetian version made use
of Melissa Moldavica, another member of the family
of Lamiaceae but only a distant relative of the former.
The Venetian fathers had began their production of their
essential oil of “lemon balm” by studying its properties
meticulously, and it was this which led them to select
the Melissa Moldavica, which they considered to be
the most suitable plant for their purposes. The product
was so successful it generated a number of imitations,
and so the monastery had to take measures to protect
its creation: hence in 1754, the Republic of Venice
granted the Discalced Carmelites exclusive rights over
the production and sale of ‘Lemon Balm Water’. In
Carlo Goldoni’s play Il Bugiardo [The Liar] there is an
interesting reference to the monks’ Acqua di Melissa,
when it is used to restore the heroine to her senses
after she has fainted.
With its ups and downs, the production of Lemon Balm
Water has continued to this day, and the recipe is still
the exclusive property of the Carmelite fathers. And
even if production has been moved to the Discalced
Carmelites’ Santa Teresa monastery in Verona, the
garden of the Venetian monastery is still known as Il
Giardino della Melissa.
54
“The Lord created the
medicines of the earth
and wise men do not
despise them. God gave
men knowledge so that
they might glorify his
wonders. With them,
the doctor cures and
eliminates pain, whilst
the apothecary prepares
compounds.”
Ecclesiasticus 38, 4-7
The Garden of the Five Senses
The idea behind this particular aspect of the garden is
its use to revive the five senses, which are increasingly
deadened by the effects of modern society.
Passage through the garden might thus be seen as a
course of preventative medicine. The layout and the
choice of plants is not only inspired by Venetian or
medieval traditions, but also by the range of human
senses. The juxtaposition of certain plants, foliage
and flowers – all exposed to change over the seasons
– was predicated upon the desire to stimulate visual
perception of space.
The same is also true of the variations in perspective
levels, created using not only plants of different heights
but also variations in the heights of the pergolas along
the main axis. And alongside the paths, the pergolas
and the different materials employed mean that one
uses not only one’s eyes but also one’s sense of touch
– one’s whole body – to perceive space.
Thus, for example, the sense of smell is continually
stimulated by the refined odours of flowers and
aromatic plants, but also by the heavier, earthier smell
of the compost. Furthermore, the varieties of plants
mean that one learns to recognise different tastes; one
is stimulated to try them.
Hearing, too, plays an important part, given that – even
if it stands alongside the railway station – the garden is
an oasis of calm in the chaos of the city. This enables
one to rediscover the pleasure of listening to the rustle
of the breeze in the trees, to birdsong and flowing
water, and even the sound of gravel as it adjusts
beneath your feet.
Similarly, the change in ground coverings is a stimulus
to one’s tactile senses: for example, the visuallyimpaired can tell that they are getting close to the
Chapel of the Madonna at the end of the garden
because the pavement becomes cobblestones and one
can smell the scent of roses. In effect, the garden aims
to stimulate human silence within the chorus of nature.
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Above: five images that depict
the five senses of touch, sight,
hearing, smell and taste.
Opposite page:
Above: three old photographs
of the friars at work producing
Lemon Balm Water.
Below: a bottle of Lemon Balm
Water.
The Mystic Garden
As already mentioned, the restoration of the garden
also drew upon symbolism, which is to be seen in
close relationship with the mysticism that is a key
part of the tradition of the Discalced Carmelites. Such
an approach develops upon the theology of Creation
as outlined in the Holy Scriptures, seeing Nature as
speaking to us of God, given that He Himself is present
within it. Humankind should, therefore, approach
Nature as an object of spiritual contemplation, with a
feeling of amazement at the beauty God has bestowed
upon us. From this profoundly spiritual sense of
the contemplation of Nature arises mysticism, an
awareness of God the Creator as present throughout
the world. The word “mystical” comes from the Greek
mystikòs [mysterious], itself derived from the verb
myein [“to conceal”, “to pass over in silence”]; it
reflects that the contemplation of the sacred is a direct
experience of something which is “beyond” logical
thought and, therefore, difficult to communicate.
Mysticism was, in effect, introduced into Christian
theology through the Platonism of the School of
Alexandria. However, it is not a body of theological
doctrine as such. Instead, it forms a stage on a
person’s spiritual journey – the moment at which
God overwhelms our individual person, touching the
very depths of our being and thus bringing about
a transformation. Such divine action is to be found
in both the Old and New Testament, and may be
summarised in St. Paul’s statement: “Not I, but Christ
liveth in me” (Gal 2, 20). The process involved is
described by St. John as a passage from ‘seeing’
(that is, the eye of faith still linked to our senses) to
“These are the
generations of the heaven
and the earth, when they
were created, in the day
that the Lord God made
the heaven and the earth:
And every plant of the
field before it sprung up
in the earth, and every
herb of the ground before
it grew: for the Lord God
had not rained upon the
earth; and there was not
a man to till the earth.
But a spring rose out of
the earth, watering all the
surface of the earth. And
the Lord God formed man
of the slime of the earth:
and breathed into his face
the breath of life, and man
became a living soul. And
the Lord God had planted
a paradise of pleasure
from the beginning:
wherein he placed man
whom he had formed.
And the Lord God brought
forth of the ground all
manner of trees, fair to
behold, and pleasant to
eat of: the tree of life also
in the midst of paradise:
and the tree of knowledge
of good and evil. And
a river went out of the
place of pleasure to water
paradise, which from
thence is divided into
four heads. […] And the
Lord God took man, and
put him into the paradise
of pleasure, to dress it,
and to keep it.”
‘knowing’, which involves an ever deeper
experience of God Himself, achieved
through close observance of the
concrete requirements of the message
of the Gospels (John 8,32). At the end
of this process (or journey), one knows
– that is, lives in communion with – the
Lord (John 2, 19-21).
Mystical experience, therefore,
is initiated by God, who freely
communicates Himself to the individual.
What is involved is a gradual experience
of growing union with God in the
person of Christ. This itself also entails
a communion with others which goes
beyond the limits of individualism; it
involves the recipient in the history of
human salvation, because Faith works
through Love (Gal 5,6). Thus love is
the force that unites; it is the basis of
knowledge. This means that everything
we know must form a united whole – a
point that was demonstrated by the
philosopher and theologian Vladimir
Soloviev, who aimed to bring together the
three forms of knowledge that are to be
found in European civilization: empirical,
metaphysical and mystical. These
forms are so different to each other
than modern humanity tends to relegate
each to its specific sphere, without any
communication or connection between
them. Realising that even the summa of
metaphysical knowledge is insufficient in
itself – given that Truth is meta-logical,
lies beyond logical expression – Soloviev
took Beauty as his starting-point, for
this is the reciprocal union of the finite
and infinite, a reflection of Truth in the
ideas of the Real, a vision of “the one
in the other”. Thus beauty is identified
with the sacred, with the result that – to
use a phrase of Dostoevsky’s – “It will
be beauty that will save the world.”
This means that such salvation is
already underway wherever nature is
transformed by the power of its divine
content, by light, life and love.
However, reason remains silent before
the beauty of God, because He opens
Himself up only to the heart that is
awaiting Him. But when such an
experience does occur, one is aware of
being in direct contact with God – even if
this awareness is vague and indefinable;
can only be expressed by hints, in a
language whose eloquence depends
upon symbols whose significance is
constantly renewed. Amongst these
symbols are those of so-called “popular
religious feeling”, which are included
here in the description of the garden
and highlighted with regard to particular
plants. Such religious feeling has, over
Alongside: detail of Eden by Renato Birolli,
1937.
Opposite page: detail of The Creation of Eve
and Sin, Marc Chagall 1931, Musée National
Marc Chagall, Nice.
Overleaf: St. Teresa of Lisieux.
Genesis 2, 4-8; 15
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the centuries, enabled humankind to see the presence
of God in nature, in a single tree, flower or vegetable.
It is this “mysticism of the everyday” that one finds
so often when reading St. Teresa’s El Camino de
Perfección [Path to Perfection]. Hence, in keeping
with this tradition of Carmelite spirituality, the garden
aims to stir a genuine ecological awareness within
each visitor, making him or her conscious of the moral
responsibility one has towards Nature: one must not
only try to respect every aspect of it but also explore
and scrutinise each of its secrets, in order to be able
to “cultivate” its full potential and capacities.
Humankind is not a passive guest within Nature, for
God has established a relationship of love between all
His creatures, entrusting humankind with the privilege/
duty of being the mediator of this love. This means
that humankind must not only work the earth – that
is, make use of it – but also contemplate it, praising
God for what he has received. When Man fails to see
that God made him in his image, he turns his back
on the contemplation of both God and His Creation;
falling into the servitude of incessant action, he ends
up trampling over the Creation itself. As one can see
in the extraordinary example of St. Francis of Assisi,
the Christian is called upon not only to respect nature
but also to love it; recognising in Nature a reflection
of the light of God, he should fully experience his own
existence as that of one creature amongst others.
It is this spiritual approach that lies at the basis of
the deepest forms of ecological awareness; that
enables us to see Nature not as the product of blind
and irrational evolution but as a precious gift to be
cherished with deep love and respect. However, this is
not a gift upon which one can lay despotic hands. One
cannot – even in the name of respect for Great Mother
Earth – deny any of God’s creatures their share in it.
“Jesus set before my
eyes the book of Nature,
and I have understood
that all the flowers of
Creation are beautiful;
the magnificent roses
and the white lilies do not
steal the perfume of the
violet, or the charming
simplicity of the daisy.
If all the small flowers
wanted to be roses,
then nature would lose
its spring-like garb, the
fields would no longer be
enamelled with blooms.
And so it is in the world of
the soul, which is Christ’s
garden. God wanted to
create great saints, who
can be compared to the
roses and lilies; but he
also created smaller souls
that must be content with
being daisies or violets,
destined to delight the
view of the Lord when he
deigns to look down upon
them. Perfection lies in
doing His will, in being
what He wants us to be.”
Numerology
Along with Christian symbolism, the restoration of the
garden also drew upon numerology, thus emphasising
the more esoteric elements in this space.
The starting-point here was a number of biblical
texts that are constructed in such a way that specific
numbers recur in a consistent and significant manner.
In fact, the meaning and importance of such numbers
within the Bible has long been the object of study and
research. For the Christian, the reading of the Holy
Scriptures means sharing in – penetrating and being
penetrated by – the mystery of God. Thus there are
numerous aspects to these Scriptures that must be
explored, full interpretation requiring reference not
only to their literal, historical and theological meaning
but also to other aspects (for example symbolism,
allegory and numerology).
Nor should one forget that in Hebrew numbers are
indicated by letters: the alphabet is made up of 22
letters and five special characters, with the first nine
letters indicating the numbers 1 to 9, the next nine
being 10 to 90 and the last 4 being 100 to 400 (with
the special characters bringing this up to 900). This
numerical system is purely based upon arithmetical
addition, thus one can look for relations between
words and names and the numerical values of the
letters that compose them (or vice versa). Obviously,
at the beginning of the 21st century it is difficult to
believe that a number can be anything other than an
instrument for calculation, given that numbers are
now seen in purely quantitative terms; their qualitative
aspects (in effect, the sole ones of real significance
From l’Histoire d’une Âme
by St. Teresa of Lisieux
58
59
“The ignorance of
numbers prevents us
from understanding
many things placed in the
Scriptures in an indirect or
figurative form.”
St. Augustine, Christian
Doctrine, Bk II
“Mathematics is the
alphabet in which God
wrote the universe”
and Nature is “the book
written in the language of
mathematics.”
Galileo Galilei
“As God calculates and
exercises his thoughts,
the world takes form.
An atheist may be a
geometer, but he does not
know what geometry is.”
Gottfried Wilhelm von
Leibniz
for a correct interpretation of sacred texts) have now
become the preserve of magic and esoteric doctrine.
The Church itself has played a part in this, given that
the First Council of Nicaea (in 325 AD) banished
numerology to the realms of magic and divination. And
once certain keys to the reading of Holy Scriptures
had been abandoned, the process of obtaining
comprehensive knowledge and understanding of what
they conveyed was compromised. What was lost was
the ability to achieve exhaustive knowledge of what
those Scriptures communicated, given that every
single consonant had reference and meaning: the full
significance of a word was not solely the fruit of a
combination of letters but also of the value of each
individual letter.
It was this which meant that in the restoration of the
garden every attempt was made to give numbers
their full importance. The entire parterre, in fact, was
divided into 7 beds, plus the circular bed around the
tree of life; together with these there are two other
sections created near the Chapel of the Madonna and
four areas on the south-west front of the garden (these
latter left to commemorate the form of the space
before the construction of the railway station wall).
Thus there are fourteen plant beds in all, within which
21 different types of plant are to be found: those in
the seven main beds, plus fourteen others. And all of
these plants can be reached by eight paths, which run
throughout the entire space of the garden and unite it
as a complete whole.
The numbers of the garden are therefore: the seven
main beds, the eight main paths, the fourteen different
sections and the twenty-one types of plant cultivated.
For the Jews, the number seven concludes the triad
of divine numbers; it is no coincidence that it occurs
in the Bible around 600 times – most significantly
in reference to the seven days of the Creation.
Furthermore, in the teachings of the Church, there
are seven sacraments, seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit,
seven Virtues and seven Vices, seven works of
corporeal and seven works of spiritual charity. Thus
the seven main beds signify the seven stages in the
60
Numbers and
geometrical harmony
were at the basis of the
construction of medieval
cathedrals. Furthermore,
one finds continual
references to numbers
in such works as Dante’s
Divine Comedy.
“How can you put
Beethoven’s Ninth in a
Cartesian diagram? There
are realities that cannot be
quantified. The universe
is not captured by my
numbers; it is pervaded
by mystery. He who has
no sense of mystery is
half-dead.”
Albert Einstein
path towards spiritual perfection and the
achievement of salvation: in St. Teresa’s
“The Interior Castle” there are seven
rooms, which the saint uses to depict
the different stages in the Christian life.
The number eight symbolises the move
beyond earthly harmony, an elevation
to the celestial. And, finally, the number
fourteen is significant because it is
the first multiple of seven, a number
that is repeated in many aspects of the
garden. Thus, for example, the number
twenty-one – which is the sum of all the
different plants cultivated – is also to be
considered a perfect number, given that
it is not only divisible by seven but is
the product of 7x3 (both of them sacred
numbers). This numerological layout in
the garden is inspired by the conviction
that such mathematical division of the
space and its use serves to re-waken
man’s latent spiritual energies. The
believer is also a creator, capable of
setting things in geometrical order in
the same way as God sets things in
geometrical order.
Above: numerological division of the parterre
in the garden.
On page 59: the correspondence between
Hebrew alphabet and Arabic numbers.
61
The First Plant Bed
The First Plant Bed: the Lawn
Symbolizing the first day of Creation, the number one
indicates the origin of all things. The same is true in
mathematics, the entire numerical system hinging
upon unity. However, it is also particularly true of the
numerous religions and traditions that insist upon all
things, all matter, emerging from an original unity.
The One, therefore, is the deity before Creation. It
includes within itself every reality and every idea that
can be thought; it is the Eternal Infinitude of Being,
which has no form and possesses all forms, no name
and yet all names.
Here, the lawn represents the first stage, a space of
“open country”, in which various forms of grasses can
flourish; a space whose form and colour is determined
by the different grasses that grow there and the
quantity and qualities of the dominant species.
This expanse of grass is like a distinct, uniform
connective tissue, the fabric underlying what is about
to emerge beyond – that is, the garden as a whole.
It might be considered as a podium or base, a floor
surface that reflects the light in a clear and vibrant
manner; such an expanse of grass was also the bed
for the lover and his beloved in The Song of Songs (1,
16-17).
In Christianity, God is One,
and God is one alone. As
the First Commandment
says: “I am the Lord God:
Thou shalt have no other
gods before me.” (Ex 20,
1-2). And Moses says:
“Hear, O Israel: The Lord
our God is one Lord.”
(Deut 6, 4). This notion
of the sole God is an
extremely powerful one
in Christianity. In John
(17, 21) Jesus says of
his disciples: “That they
all may be one; as thou,
Father, art in me, and I in
thee, that they may also
be one in us.”
The lawn is located near the old farm
building, now used for pastoral activities,
and is to be seen as a place of welcome,
a place when people gather, an open
space that can be shared. In effect, here
greenery is an extension of the built
structure, a living “piazza” where people
can stroll and relax, where children can
play. Opening up the visual field of the
garden as a whole, the lawn is a sort
of light veil that becomes evanescent
in character, enhancing the visual
perception of space.
However, it also has a dual significance
here. On the one hand, such grass is
the pasture for livestock, it can provide
plants that supply our larders and
provide medicines for the sick; on the
other, it might be home to poisons.
It can yield beneficial plants or bitter
weeds. So, while one can see it as a
symbol of hope and rebirth – just like
the grass that grew in the desert where
Jesus miraculously fed the five thousand
with loaves and fishes (John 6, 10) – the
green of grass and meadows also has a
different association: not only hope and
rebirth but also anger and envy.
Yet while in Christian iconography it was
the colour of the devil’s flesh and his
eyes, it was also the colour of charity
towards the needy.
For example, in the Middle Ages a
number of religious confraternities used
to light a green lamp when food was
ready for one particular category of the
poor: those whose state was a source
of shame (impoverished noblemen,
mortified by their indigence) and who,
thanks to the green lamp, knew when to
approach without drawing attention to
themselves by knocking on the door for
admittance (this practice is probably at
the origin of the Italian expression essere
al verde, meaning “to be penniless”).
Just as in the universally recognised
language of modern traffic lights,
the green lamp communicated to
the disgraced noblemen when it was
their turn to move. Even this makes it
significant that an expanse of green lawn
is the first section of the garden, the first
step on a journey that leads towards
eternal salvation.
“In the beginning
God created heaven,
and earth. And the earth
was void and empty, and
darkness was upon the
face of the deep; and the
spirit of God moved over
the waters. And God said:
Be light made. And light
was made. And God saw
the light that it was good;
and he divided the light
from the darkness. And he
called the light Day, and
the darkness Night; and
there was evening and
morning one day.”
Opposite page: design sketch of the lawn.
This page: Piazza dei Miracoli in Pisa, an
example of grassed areas as a place where
people gather. The natural and man-made are
not separated.
Genesis 1, 1-5
62
63
The Second Plant Bed
The Second Plant Bed: the Garden of Simples
This second bed, containing medicinal herbs, is
intended to recall the Hortus Semplicium that was
a feature of all the medieval monasteries that stood
along the major routes of pilgrimage to the Holy
Land: these establishments, in fact, not only provided
hospitality within the xenodochia (hospices) built
alongside the monastery but also took in and cared
for sick pilgrims (hence the need for medicinal
herbs). Within a monastery of the time there would
not only be a garden of simples but also an armarium
pigmentarium: in the former the herbs were cultivated,
in the latter they were conserved for future use. The
very principle of providing assistance to the needy –
plus the obvious link between poverty and disease
– had a decisive effect upon the form of monastic
medicine, which still possesses various interesting
recipes for herbal products and therapeutic practices.
In the Bible, the Garden of Eden is seen as a “natural”
Paradise in which all plants and animals co-existed in
peaceful harmony. And it was this notion that inspired
monks to envisage gardening, working the earth, as
a way of returning to that lost earthly paradise, a way
of beginning to earn a “natural” salvation that was
the very symbol of the salvation of the soul. What is
more, monks did not just envisage medicinal plants
in an empirical fashion – that is, in terms of a causeeffect relation arising from their active ingredients
(which they did not even know). For them, the plants
The number two indicates
duality, the moment in
which God, the Original
Being, creates that which
is other than Himself; in
which he moulds matter.
And, at the same time,
duality can also re-create
unity. For example, a
man and a woman were
both created by God in
his image (Gn 1, 27) –
the woman (isshah in
Hebrew), in fact, being
generated from the rib
of man (ish in Hebrew,
hence the word isshah,
as one can see in Gn 2,
21-23). Yet, in joining
together, the two will
“become as one flesh”
(Gn 2, 24). Thus two
indicates ambivalence:
body and soul in man;
divine and human nature
in Christ.
“And God said: Let
there be a firmament
made amidst the waters:
and let it divide the waters
from the waters. And God
made a firmament, and
divided the waters that
were under the firmament,
from those that were
above the firmament,
and it was so. And God
called the firmament,
Heaven; and the evening
and morning were the
second day.”
were instruments which God had
provided to serve humankind – just as
the whole of Nature had been created
for man. From the very beginning, the
practice of medicine and pharmacy
within monasteries was linked with
a religious spirit of assistance to the
infirm, and was to be found as a part
of the various Orders: chapter 36 of St.
Benedict’s Monastic Rule reads: “First
of all, one must take care of one’s sick
brothers, serving them truly as one
would Christ in person, because He
himself said ‘I was sick and you did visit
me’, and ‘what you have done for the
least of these, you have done for me’.”
In the medieval world, religion
identified God as the immobile centre
of the universe, the unmoving mover
of all things, creator of the heaven
and the earth, of man’s body and
soul. Thus everything was seen in
terms of this hierarchy, with diseases
being something that undermined
the established order; in line with a
point of view that was inspired by the
teachings of the Old Testament, it was
also seen as the result of sin. Illness
and pain were, therefore, a form of
expiation of one’s guilt; so the care of
the body inevitably went together with
the confession of sins and penitence.
In fact, while the monks conserved
ancient medical texts – re-copying
them in their scriptoria – they also
provided basic medical care to the
populace as a whole. This was based
largely upon the use of medicinal plants
but also upon prayer, confession and
religious ritual. All of these were seen
as playing an equally important role.
In each monastery, the poor and sick
were cared for with great charity, the
monks following the words of Christ as
reported by St. Matthew the Evangelist:
“Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers,
raise the dead.” (Mt.10,8). The garden
of simples is a symbol of charity to
one’s neighbour, but also of one’s
participation in their pain and suffering
(both understood as a means to
salvation). So, just like illness, medicine
must be seen as a means of union with
Christ, of spiritual purification; and for
those who are dealing with the sick, it
is also an opportunity for the exercise
of charity.
Within the second bed, the nine small
plots of medicinal herbs are encased by
planks of specially treated wood; these
themselves recall the wooden sleepers
of a railway line and thus refer to how
the location of the Santa Lucia train
station once invaded – and thus reduced
– the space of the original garden.
The number nine is also a symbol of
the defeat of illness and evil. In fact,
it is the square product of the perfect
number of the Trinity, as well as being
the number of humanity (given it takes
This page and opposite: watercolour design
sketches of the beds of medicinal herbs.
Genesis 1, 6-8
64
65
The Second Plant Bed
nine months for the child to grow within
the womb). And as 8+1, the number
9 also indicates the next step in our
earthly elevation towards a state of
being that is beyond the comprehension
of men who are still tied to the sensorial
world. In this case, the number one is
represented by the largest of the plant
trays, which contains lemon balm –
that is, the plant that was the defining
presence in the historic garden of the
Discalced Carmelites. The number
eight is represented by the other trays,
which house plants with homeopathic
properties; each one is intended to
work in a specific way upon the human
organism and is here placed in such
a way that layout, odour and colour
all have their effects. The number 8
is also linked with the Lord because
in Christian symbolism the eighth day
heralds Resurrection and Eternity. It is,
thus, the symbol of New Life, of our
Final Resurrection and of the baptism
that looks forward to that Resurrection.
Furthermore, in the Sermon on the
Mount there are eight Beatitudes (Mt 5,
3-11).
The Third Plant Bed: the Friars’ Garden
This third bed is used as a vegetable plot, a Hortus
Holeaurium, where the monks grow their own food.
The layout comprises slightly raised plots that total
twenty-eight in all, thus representing the number
of the planets (Sun, moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars,
Jupiter and Saturn) multiplied by four, stressing the
importance that such astral influences were once
believed to have upon the biological rhythms of plants.
It should also be underlined that the presence of such
a vegetable plot within a monastery garden is closely
linked with the existence of a garden of simples,
reflecting the medieval monastic notion that “the best
medicine for man is the food he eats.”
That diet was based upon a limited use of meat and
game in favour of more greens and garden vegetables.
The layout, therefore, not only wants to highlight that a
monastery garden had an economic function – making
the monastery self-sufficient – but also to stand as a
symbol of the monastic diet itself. What the monks ate
was in clear contrast to the food served at the table
of the powerful, who indulged in abundant quantities
of meat as a sign of their social rank. Instead, the
monastic diet was a model of sobriety, very similar to
that of the poor: vegetables, in fact, were considered
food for the poor and were mainly eaten by the lower
classes.
At the same time, greens and vegetables were
symbols of purity, given that they were the basic food
This page: watercolour design sketches of the
wood-framed beds for medicinal herbs.
66
67
“God also said: Let the
waters that are under
the heaven, be gathered
together into one place:
and let the dry land
appear. And it was so
done. And God called the
dry land, Earth; and the
gathering together of the
waters, he called Seas.
And God saw that it was
good. And he said: Let
the earth bring forth the
green herb, and such as
may seed, and the fruit
tree yielding fruit after
its kind, which may have
seed in itself upon the
earth. And it was so done.
And the earth brought
forth the green herb, and
such as yieldeth seed
according to its kind, and
the tree that beareth fruit,
having seed each one
according to its kind. And
God saw that it was good.
And the evening and the
morning were the third
day.”
Genesis 1, 9-13
The Third Plant Bed
The Third Plant Bed
of humankind – and of anchorite monks in particular.
Within the monastery, the cultivation of a vegetable
garden was closely linked with the observance of
the monastic Rule, which should not be seen as a
restriction but as an exercise indispensable for one’s
very existence.
In the Middle Ages, the whole of the world was
seen in figurative terms – that is, each thing was a
representation of something else – and the entire
reality of the Created World was an expression of
the Transcendental. This meant that the garden was
seen as a place where man might find answers to
existential questions of every day life; where he might
discover the full relation between himself, Nature and
God. In other words, the garden could express human
experience of the natural world within a framework of
progress towards spiritual perfection. The vegetable
garden was the embodiment of that cultivated earth
which represented the dominion that Homo Sapiens
exercised over Nature; it reflected the skills which
humankind had acquired in the use of the instruments
provided by Nature herself. The garden was a mirror of
the created world; and the vegetable garden aimed to
express the concepts of life and death, fecundity and
glory, the sacred and the spiritual, which are implicit
in the Christian view of Nature as the reflection of the
Creator – a view which means the mere contemplation
of Nature is a first step towards communion with God.
In our day and age it is of particular importance that
we be aware of the fact that man is not the absolute
68
Since Roman times,
the number three has
been considered the
perfect number, as
one can see from the
Latin expression: omne
trinum est perfectum.
One should note that
the adjective perfectum
derives from the verb
perficere, meaning “to
bring to completion”.
In a literal sense,
therefore, “perfect”
refers to that which is
complete, thus flawless.
This is why the number
three summarises the
completion of Creation
itself – that is, when a
third elements proceeds
from duality and forms
a link between the two
which compose it. On the
third day God completed
the fundamental work
of Creation; the fourth,
fifth and sixth, in fact,
are counterparts to the
first three. Hence, with
regard to this sense of
wholeness, one should
note that the world
is perceived in three
dimensions (height,
length, depth), just as the
human being is made up
of body, mind and spirit.
In Christianity, the number
three is, of course,
particularly important as
referring to the persons
of the Trinity: Father, Son
and Holy Spirit.
master of Nature; that the created
world is a “gift” which should benefit
Mankind, is entrusted to us so that we
may bring it to fruition and completion.
In other words, we must care for
Nature with wisdom and kindness –
just as God, who created all things as
“good”, governs them with wisdom and
kindness.
The relation between God, Nature and
Mankind should not be based upon
considerations of technology or ecology.
It should reflect a theology rooted in
our familiarity with the Word of God,
who creates, loves, sustains and brings
to completion the design of universal
harmony.
It is no accident that the Old Testament
presents God as an omnipotent Creator
who models man in His image, inviting
him to work the soil (Gn 2, 5-6) and take
care of the Garden of Eden in which he
has been placed (Gn 2, 15). In effect,
God entrusted the first human couple
with the task of subjugating the earth,
of exercising dominion over every
living creature (Gn 1, 28). However,
that dominion is not to be understood
as despotic and irresponsible. On the
contrary, when placed in the Garden
humankind’s task was “to dress it and
keep it” (Gn 2, 15).
Man had not created what he has
authority over; he received it as a
precious gift, for which the Creator had
made him responsible. Cultivating the
land means one cannot abandon it to
itself. And exercising dominion over
it means taking care of it – just as a
wise king takes care of his people or a
shepherd of his flock.
On pages 67 to 69: watercolour design
sketches of the friars at work in the vegetable
garden.
69
The Fourth Plant Bed
The Fourth Plant Bed: the Vineyard
The fourth bed is used as a vineyard – a feature
that has existed in the garden since its creation. The
recovery and restoration of the vineyard here was
inspired, above all, by the triple association of vinesgrapes-wine with Christian culture in general and
monastic culture in particular. Indeed, in the years
immediately following the collapse of the Roman
empire, the Church was the one institution that
withstood the dramatic course of events, and it was
thanks to monks that wine retained the privileged
status it had enjoyed under the Greek and Romans,
and could then re-emerge to gain favour with the new
rulers of the Europe. In fact, monasteries cultivated
vines not only because wine was a recognised part of
the diet of monastic communities but also because it
was indispensable for the celebration of Mass – all the
more so since, up to the end of the twelfth century, all
the faithful took communion in “both species” (that is,
bread and wine). Within the New Testament the triple
association of vine-grape-wine takes on a significance
that one sees in no other religion. In his account of the
Last Supper, a liturgical celebration that is of central
importance to Christianity, St. Luke refers to wine
as “the fruit of the vine” (Lk 22, 18). And the image
of vines reinforces the significance associated with
wine: the plants are often used to symbolise the union
between the disciples and Jesus (John 15, 18). And
in the parables, vines and vineyards figure repeatedly
“And God said: Let there
be lights made in the
firmament of heaven, to
divide the day and the
night, and let them be for
signs, and for seasons,
and for days and years: To
shine in the firmament of
heaven, and to give light
upon the earth. And it was
so done. And God made
two great lights: a greater
light to rule the day; and
a lesser light to rule the
night: and the stars.
And he set them in the
firmament of heaven to
shine upon the earth. And
to rule the day and the
night, and to divide the
light and the darkness.
good. And the evening
and morning were the
fourth day.”
Genesis 1, 14-20
This page: design sketch of
the seventeen rows of vines in
the vineyard.
Opposite page: watercolour
design sketch of a friar
harvesting grapes.
70
(Mt 20, 1-16; 21, 33-46). Jesus himself is described
as the true vine and his Father as a vine-dresser (John
15,1). And Christ uses the image to represent the
close union between Himself and those who believe in
Him – a union that begins in Faith and is consummated
through the Eucharist.
The role of wine in the Gospels takes on further
significance thank to the miracle of the Wedding Feast
of Cana (John 2, 1-11), where it plays a central role
in the act that marks the beginning of Christ’s ministry
on Earth.
And in the eschatology that is essential to the Christian
view of history, wine plays a key role, given that it is
a crucial part of the sacrifice of the Eucharist: for the
Christian, wine serves to commemorate the sacrifice
of the Cross, which is the source of eternal salvation
and joy (1 Cor 11, 25).
Unlike bread, the symbolism of wine within the
Eucharist is not inspired by a reverence for that which
necessary to our existence; as we see in the Psalms
(Ps 104, 15), wine is, in fact, the embodiment of
happiness and that which is freely given. Thus, on
the altar table where the Eucharist is celebrated,
there is not only that which is necessary for human
survival but also a luxury that plays no part in the
basic nourishment required by our bodies. This means
that the vineyard might be taken as symbolising our
cultural “superfluity” – in other words, all the artistic,
literary, architectural, scientific, theological and
spiritual wealth that, far from responding to secondary
or artificial needs, is necessary to human existence.
As cultural anthropology has shown, that existence
only becomes truly human when it moves beyond the
utilitarian into the realm of the gratuitous; when the
very quality of existence becomes a consideration
– that is, when houses are more than shelters, food
is more than a source of nutrients, clothing is more
than a means of protecting the body. Bread and wine,
therefore, do not only represent the fruits of the earth,
they also embody the range of human culture – from
language to the figurative arts. Upon the altar, bread
and wine represent the whole of human history, the
71
The number four
expresses the excellence
of created reality in that
it is the sum of 3 and
1 – that is, the unity
of matter combined
with the perfection of
the threefold. Here,
one moves from the
metaphysical to the
terrestrial level. In fact,
the number four is
associated with various
aspects of the material
world. With regard to
spatial form, it symbolises
the four points of the
compass, just as in
temporal terms it refers
to the four seasons (and
in alchemy, the entire
world was said be made
up of four elements).
In Christianity there are
four Evangelists, four
Cardinal Virtues and four
rivers of Paradise.
The Fourth Plant Bed
interaction of nature and culture through the exercise
of human labour and ingenuity.
Within this large plant bed, the vineyard is laid out in
seventeenth rows of vines, the species being those
that were already present in the garden or were typical
of ancient gardens within Venice; the plants were
identified by special DNA analysis of those still to be
found there. As an old Venetian proverb says: “It was
no garden if there was no Marzemino, Recaldina or
Raboso [grape]”, and this is the variety the garden
aims to reflect. At the same time, the monastery
vineyard also includes an Israeli variety of white grape
(both a wine-making and table grape); known as
Nehelescol – or “Promised Land” – this was brought
here in the 1930s by a Discalced Carmelite monk
returning from the Holy Land.
The number seventeen recurs frequently within
the Scriptures. However, as St. Augustine himself
commented, it has a particular significance in
reference to a combination of order and spirituality,
given that there are Ten Commandments and Seven
Gifts of the Holy Spirit. In many countries there is the
belief that the number 17 is unlucky, but that originates
not in the Judaeo-Christian tradition but in the Roman
world: in Latin numerals 17 is XVII, an anagram of
vixi “I lived” (thus “I am dead”). In mathematics,
seventeen also has special significance as the seventh
prime number.
The Fifth Plant Bed: the Orchard of Lost Flavours
Monastic Orders are
to be credited with
the development of
certain wines that are
still very well known
nowadays. This is the
case, for example, with
the Benedictines who
produced the wines of the
Euganean hills; the roughhewn Knights of Rhodes,
who produced Bardolino,
Soave and Valpolicella;
the Knights Templar, who
produced Locorotondo di
Puglia.
The fifth plant bed is given over to an orchard of forty
trees, the number a reference to key moments in the
experience of faith. The Flood, for example, lasted
forty days and nights, and Noah would wait another
forty days before touching ground once more; Moses
stayed on Mount Sinai for forty days and nights; Jesus
spent forty days in the desert, and would remain on
Earth for forty days after his Passion, showing himself
to his disciples and preaching the kingdom of God.
Using a plant bed as an orchard – or, in the medieval
expression, a Hortus Pomarium – means returning
to the origins of monastic gardens: such places not
only provided sustenance for the community but also
reflected the situation described in Genesis, which
says that Man was formed “outside the Garden”, only
afterwards being brought there by God, who told him
that he was to “dress it and keep it”. In an orchard,
the tree might stand for an individual, but the collection
of trees is an image of the community; similarly, the
primordial garden was a symbol of the close relation
between God and man, between man and God and
between man and man.
It should also be mentioned that the Book of Genesis
makes explicit reference to fruit trees. This is an
evocation of the “female” aspect of trees – that
Genesis 1, 20-23
On this page: watercolour
picking peaches.
On this page: watercolour
harvesting grapes.
72
“God also said: Let the
waters bring forth the
creeping creature having
life, and the fowl that
may fly over the earth
under the firmament of
heaven. And God created
the great whales, and
every living and moving
creature, which the
waters brought forth,
according to their kinds,
and every winged fowl
according to its kind.
good. And he blessed
them, saying: Increase
and multiply, and fill the
waters of the sea: and let
the birds be multiplied
upon the earth. And the
evening and morning
were the fifth day.”
73
The Fifth Plant Bed
The Fifth Plant Bed
is, their capacity to bear fruit. And this fecundity
is reflected in the full cycle of life, given that such
trees develop buds, leaves, blossom and fruit as the
seasons change. The production of fruit means that
the tree can not only nourish humankind but also
reproduce; and in growing the tree becomes a place
of shelter, offering protection and sustenance as it
develops the means that guarantee it has descendants.
As for the “male” aspects of the tree, these bring
together the three levels of the cosmos: standing
upright, the tree pushes its roots down into the ground,
with a trunk developing from the surface of the soil
and branches and foliage spreading out as they reach
towards the sky. In this way, the tree represents the
ripening of the material towards the spiritual. It is
no accident that, within Christian tradition, the tree
represents the life of the spirit – so much so that Christ
is both the sun and the tree.
And then there is the protection afforded by trees: their
foliage provides shade from the light of the sun, thus
bringing together a symbol of God’s presence and a
symbol of the protection that God offers us. But the
tree is also a place of welcome, which Jesus himself
linked with the world of birds when he concluded his
parable of the mustard seed grown into a great tree
by commenting: “it shooteth out great branches so
that the fowls of the air may lodge under the shade
of it” (Mk 4, 32). The image of a tree as a gatheringplace that brings people together is reflected in the
comment by the American architect Louis Kahn, who
said: “Schools came into existence when a man
sitting under a tree, who was totally unaware of being
a teacher, began to discuss his growing awareness
with a few other people, who were unaware of being
students.”
Finally, it should be stressed that the orchard was
created by maintaining the fruit trees that already
existed in this part of the garden; transplanting
here other trees scattered around the garden with
no apparent logic; and introducing new trees of
long neglected or even forgotten species. All of this
conveys a message for contemporary visitors. The
74
“He who wishes to
remain alone, without a
teacher or a guide, is like
a lone tree, untrimmed
in the middle of a field:
its fruit, no matter how
abundant, will be picked
by wayfarers and never
fully ripen.”
St. John of the Cross, in
Meditations, 5.
On the fifth days God
created the microcosm of
living beings, into which
he then added Man. So
to the material reality of
four was added unity, a
creature in the image of
God. Furthermore, five
can also be seen as the
sum of 2 and 3 – that is,
the dualism of male and
female finding perfect
synthesis in union with
the divine Trinity.
On this page:
Left: watercolour design sketch of a friar harvesting apples.
Right: watercolour design sketch of a friar picking cherries.
fruit tree is a part of our cultural wealth;
it is bound up with the essence of our
being human, and thus the visitor is
invited to rediscover that essence. Fruit,
after all, is linked with how people divide
up and cultivate land; it is thus not only
an indication of the health of soil but
embodies the knowledge acquired and
possessed by a group which shares a
specific identity, specific memories.
75
The Sixth Plant Bed: the Garden of Gethsemane
The sixth bed is home to an olive grove, such trees
bearing witness to both our past and present history.
With their silvery foliage and white blossom, olive
trees seem to defy the laws of statics as their twisted
trunks strain upwards; furthermore, they are plants
which yield a fruit whose changes in colour have,
since the dawn of time, been taken as a reflection of
the changes in the seasons.
Olives trees are rich in symbolism both for pagan and
Christian religions, being – amongst other things – a
metaphor for regeneration and perennial survival. In
ancient times, in fact, it was believed that the olive tree
was immortal, given its resistance to the elements and
its ability to grow back even from trunks that had fallen
victim to fire, frost or axe. Ultimately, this sacred tree
became an integral part of Mediterranean culture in
general, its leaves forming wreathes that symbolised
peace, honour and victory, affording protection to both
supplicants and ambassadors. And the oil made from
the fruit of the tree was, in its turn, sacred.
Many centuries before the birth of Christ, presses
were in operation to obtain such oil, as we can see
from primitive millstones that have been found in
Crete, Egypt and at Haifa in Israel (on the very slopes
of the Mount Carmel that is so closely bound up with
The Sixth Plant Bed
the traditions of the Carmelites). The olive tree was,
therefore, of essential importance both for daily life
and for a more refined mode of existence: its oil could
even be burnt in lamps, whose pale light would for
centuries begin to glimmer through windows as the
light of the setting sun waned. And, as a foodstuff, that
oil was not only nutritious and a perfect dressing for
other dishes, it could also be used as a medicine, an
unguent, in making perfumes and as a lubricant. Then
there is the tree’s beautifully grained wood, which for
centuries has been used in carving decorative objects
and household utensils; the off-cuts also supplying
fuel for heating or cooking.
Over the centuries, therefore, the olive tree has taken
on important symbolic significance, appearing in the
songs and legends of numerous different cultures. For
example, it can symbolise longevity, maturity, wisdom,
knowledge, fertility, peace and celebration – as well as
rebirth and continual renewal. Within the Bible itself the
tree is mentioned some seventy times. In the Book of
Genesis, for instance, it is said that, when the waters
of the Flood began to recede, a dove returned to Noah
with a olive twig in its beak, a sign that Heaven and
Earth were once more reconciled (Gn 8, 10-11). Thus,
the olive tree took on a double meaning: it became a
On this page: the olive
grove.
Opposite: a friar picking
olives.
76
“And God said: Let the
earth bring forth the living
creature in its kind, cattle and
creeping things, and beasts
of the earth, according to
their kinds. And it was so
done. And God made the
beasts of the earth according
to their kinds, and cattle, and
every thing that creepeth
on the earth after its kind.
good. And he said: Let us
make man to our image and
likeness: and let him have
dominion over the fishes
of the sea, and the fowls
of the air, and the beasts,
and the whole earth, and
every creeping creature that
moveth upon the earth. And
God created man to his own
image: to the image of God
he created him: male and
female he created them. And
God blessed them, saying:
Increase and multiply, and
fill the earth, and subdue it,
and rule over the fishes of
the sea, and the fowls of the
air, and all living creatures
that move upon the earth.
And God said: Behold I have
given you every herb bearing
seed upon the earth, and all
trees that have in themselves
seed of their own kind, to be
your meat: And to all beasts
of the earth, and to every
fowl of the air, and to all that
move upon the earth, and
wherein there is life, that
they may have to feed upon.
And it was so done. And God
saw all the things that he had
made, and they were very
good. And the evening and
morning were the sixth day.”
Genesis 1, 24-31
77
The Sixth Plant Bed
The Sixth Plant Bed
symbol of regeneration, with the earth blossoming
once more after the destruction wrought by the Flood,
and a symbol of peace, marking the end of God’s
punishment and His reconciliation with humankind.
The olive tree also has symbolic significance in the
Gospels, appearing in the episode of the entrance
into Jerusalem, when Christ was acclaimed by a
crowd waving palm leaves and olive branches. It
is no accident that in the Christian feast of Palm
Sunday, olive leaves symbolise Christ and the fact
that, through His sacrifice, he became an instrument
of reconciliation and peace. And it would be in the
Garden of Olives that Christ passed his last hours
before the Passion. That very garden – the Garden
of Gethsemane – still exists and attracts numerous
pilgrims; it would seem that it is the oldest olive grove
in the world, some of the trees said to have been there
at the time of Christ Himself. Twisted and hollowed out,
the trunks of certain trees are more than three metres
in diameter, and recent studies have shown that they
are still perfectly healthy, with some branches dating
back at least as far as the twelfth century.
However, the most amazing fact to emerge from that
research was that eight of the olives are interrelated.
They all possess the same DNA, which means that
they all grew from grafted cuttings taken from the
same mother plant.
Faced with His imminent Passion, which would be
brought about by Judas’s betrayal, Jesus in the
At the end of the sixth
day man and all that was
linked with him were living
in the world – because
six represents labour
and the division of the
hours of the day. From an
arithmetical point of view,
it can also be considered
a perfect number
because it is the sum of
the first three numbers
and the product of an
even and odd number
(2 and 3). In the Bible it
is mentioned 148 times,
and one of these uses is
to indicate he supreme
enemy of Christ: “Here
is wisdom. He that hath
understanding, let him
count the number of the
beast. For it is the number
of a man: and the number
of him is six hundred
sixty-six.” (Rev 13, 18). It
is thought that, insofar as
this was “the number of
a man”, it was used here
to cover a real name that
was too dangerous to be
mentioned openly.
Garden of Olives felt moved to pray:
“Abba, Father, all things are possible
unto thee; take away this cup from
me: nevertheless not what I will, but
what thou wilt.” (Mk 14, 32-36). Thus
the olive grove became a symbol of
suffering – but a suffering brought about
by love. This lead to it being associated
with the garden in The Song of Songs,
which is a symbol of the joy of love.
Furthermore, the oil of the tree’s fruit
is as rich in sacred associations as the
olive tree itself, with a wide range of
symbolic meanings: such oil was, in
fact, not only used as food and medicine
but also served in the care of the body
and as a beauty treatment (it was even
rubbed on the skin of athletes). Kings
and priests were anointed with oil, a
mark of dignity and responsibility but
also of the strength that came from
God. Even the very name of “Christian”
includes a reference to the mystery of
oil: the disciples took their name from
Christ (Acts 11, 20-21) but that word
itself is the Greek translation of the word
“Messiah”, which means “The Anointed
One”. In short, being a Christian means
belonging to Christ, the Anointed of the
Lord, He upon whom God bestowed
the rank of ruler and priest – through
an anointment not with physical oil but
with what in sacramental anointment is
represented by that oil: the Holy Spirit.
Thus, in a very special way, olive oil is a
symbol of the interpenetration of Jesus
the Man and the Holy Ghost.
This makes the olive grove into a symbol
of the whole body of Christians – at the
same time as being a symbol of the
community of Friars, the consecrated
(that is, anointed) Christians who live
together as Discalced Carmelites. All in
all, this grove contains thirteen trees,
a number which – like six – is often
considered unlucky in popular traditions
(probably because there were thirteen
people at the table during the Last
Supper). However, for the Jews the
thirteenth of the month was considered
a propitious day, and the first Christians
recalled how the Star of Bethlehem had
appeared in the sky on the thirteenth
day after the Nativity. Finally, thirteen
represents the union between Christ and
his Apostles. The very layout of the olive
trees within this grove is intended to
symbolise that fact: the twelve trees are
in three rows of four, with a single tree
standing alone on the western edge of
the grove.
On this page: a friar pruning
an olive tree.
Opposite: the layout of the
olive trees in four rows of
three.
78
79
The
Plant Bed
Bed
TheSeventh
Fourth Plant
The Seventh Plant Bed: a Bower of Trees
The seventh plant bed marks the conclusion of the
spiritual journey symbolised by the garden. Here one
should point out that there are seven gifts of the Holy
Spirit: Wisdom, Understanding, Counsel, Fortitude,
Knowledge, Piety, Fear of the Lord. In this sense,
seven is the number of God, given that He is the sole
Being that can be considered as perfect and complete;
however, it also denotes the importance of the journey
the faithful must undertake to reach God the Father.
Furthermore, Mary is said to have suffered Seven
Sorrows (hence her title of Our Lady of Sorrows),
which are described in the Gospels; and here is it is
interesting to note that the seventh plant bed borders
upon the Chapel of the Madonna. The link with Mary
is also reflected in the fact that the bower in this
seventh plant bed contains eight trees – a number that
is to be seen as marking a move beyond a terrestrial
harmony towards the reality of heaven. In fact, in
Christian tradition, the number eight is also associate
with the Madonna, the Mother of God, the link between
humankind and the Deity. This is why, in Medieval
Europe, baptisteries were octagonal buildings, given
that through that sacrament man came back into
contact with the Creator, recovering his divine origin.
In this case, the number eight is seen as the sum of 5
The seventh plant
bed denotes spiritual
perfection, because the
seventh day was that on
which God rested; it is the
day consecrated to Him.
Furthermore, as the sum
of 3 and 4, 7 indicates
completeness, which can
only be associated with
God. One should also
note that in the Jewish
menorah there are seven
candles, seven flames of
hope – just as the same
number applies to the
Gifts of the Holy Spirit,
the Sacraments of the
Church, the Heavenly
Virtues, the Deadly Sins,
and the Acts of Mercy.
“So the heavens and
the earth were finished,
and all the furniture of
them. And on the seventh
day God ended his work
which he had made: and
he rested on the seventh
day from all his work
which he had done. And
he blessed the seventh
day, and sanctified it:
because in it he had
rested from all his work
which God created and
made.”
+3: the five being the trees linked with
Christ’s Passion and the other three
symbolising the Cross.
When we look at the image of
“woodland” in Christian symbolism, we
see how it was understood as a wild,
untamed place. In the Middle Ages, for
example, the Church saw woods as a
dark place that was a refuge of pagan
worship, of witches and evil forces. A
practical reason behind this view was
that the preaching of the Gospel in rural
areas was difficult, given that there
pagan worship linked to Nature proved
more resilient. In effect, the Medieval
Church would never entirely defeat
these myths – so the new institutional
religion had to abandon its outright
hostility to such legends, trying instead
to interpret them in terms of the Christian
message. Even so, forests retained their
association with a world that was hostile
and threatening. This is why Dante
chose such woodland for the opening of
his Inferno: “Midway upon the journey
of our life/ I found myself within a forest
dark,/For the straightforward pathway
had been lost./ Ah me! how hard a thing
it is to say/What was this forest savage,
rough, and stern,/Which in the very
thought renews the fear.”
A change in this attitude was largely
due to the ideas of two Christian saints:
Bernard of Clairvaux and Francis of
Assisi, both of whom would depict
woodlands as a place of Christian
reflection and redemption. St. Bernard,
for example, would cite this phrase from
the Psalms: “then shall all the trees of
the wood rejoice” (Ps 96, 12), with the
suggestion that the sound of foliage
rustling in the breeze actually evokes
ideas of applause and celebration. Seen
in this way, woods might be an image
of the joy that can be shared with sky,
sea and earth – with the landscape as a
whole; and it is this joy that is reflected
in the garden, which celebrates the
advent of the Lord and the bringing of
salvation.
With the practical purpose of serving
as a curtain in front of the ugly midtwentieth-century buildings that stand at
the end of the garden, the present trees
in the bower also serve as “trees of the
forest” (translating literally from Hebrew)
that are in deliberate contrast with “fruit
trees”, which are planted and cultivated
by man. These two worlds thus live
alongside each other, even if belonging
to different spheres of existence. In
the sphere of the wooded bower, the
centre is occupied by three trees that
symbolise the Cross, surrounded
by five that symbolise the Passion
(thus commemorating the salvation
humankind obtains through Christ).
The trees
of the bower
Genesis 2, 1-3.
80
81
The Seventh Plant Bed
The
Plant Bed
Bed
TheSeventh
Fourth Plant
The layout is such that the trees increase in height the
further away they are. In the front row is a weeping
willow, a tamarisk and a Judas Tree; behind are an
elm, a cypress, Lebanese cedar, a palm and an ilex.
The three central trees in the second row – that is, the
cypress, cedar and palm – are traditionally believed
to be those whose wood was used in making Christ’s
Cross. Here, the number of three also symbolises the
Trinity. In other traditions regarding the Cross, the palm
is a symbol of resurrection, the cedar of life and the
cypress of death.
The five other trees are, as already mentioned,
associated with the Passion. First the weeping
willow. In Hebrew tradition this is the symbol of the
re-flourishing of life, and hence the first Christians
compared it to Christ and to those who were reborn
thanks to Baptism. Furthermore, in popular tradition
the tree is said to have bowed down to the ground
so that Christ, who had fallen under the weight of the
Cross, might grip onto its boughs and thus pull himself
upright more easily. When Jesus then continued along
the painful road to Golgotha, the tree’s branches
remained hanging, and it was henceforth known as
“weeping willow”.
As for the tamarisk tree – which D’Annunzio describes
as “brackish and bitter” – this also has great symbolic
significance because its bark is said to have been the
source of the manna which fed the Chosen People in
the desert; thus it is a sign of God’s providence.
The first row of trees is completed by the Cercis
siliquastrum, commonly called the Judas Tree. The
name comes from the tradition which says either
that it was under the shade of such a tree that Judas
betrayed Christ for thirty pieces of silver, or that it
was from such a tree that he later hanged himself (or
perhaps both). There is a Renaissance version of this
legend which describes how the Lord, recognising
the tree was entirely blameless in all this, decided
to bestow upon it a gift: “You, Tree, are not guilty of
Judas’s betrayal and I will do something so that men
do not hate you but rather refer to you as a marvellous
tree. Thus I will give you blossom of beautiful deeppink flowers, and when you bloom in spring everyone
will look at you in wonder.”
At the far left end of the second row of trees stands
the elm, a symbol of friendship and protection: farmers
have always used the elm tree as a support for vines,
given that it does not draw from the earth the nutrients
that the grapes need to develop and ripen. The tree
on the far right is an ilex. Given its austere and rather
sinister appearance, in the Ancient world this tree was
often linked with funeral rites – and thus in Christian
tradition it was associated with the death of Christ.
In his Spiritual Canticles
(manuscript B, verse
36), St. John of the
Cross speaks of woods
as a place of meditation
and spirituality, where –
through pain and suffering
– one can reach God.
“Let us rejoice in each
other, O beloved,/ Within
your beauty. Let us go to
contemplate each other/
on the hills and heights
/ where the waters flow
pure;/ where the leaves
are densest, let us enter.”
The Carmelite saint sees
woods as where divine
wisdom nestles – a
wisdom to which one
gains access by means of
the Cross.
On page 80: design sketch of
the eight trees in the bower.
On page 81: the eight trees in
the seventh plant bed.
This and opposite page:
watercolour design sketches
showing the three compost
containers constructed
against the buttresses of the
garden wall.
82
83
In Jacobus de Varagine’s
Golden Legend we are
told how, on his deathbed,
Adam sent his son Seth
to the Archangel Michael,
who gave him three
seeds from the Tree of
Life (made up of different
species) that were to
be placed in his father’s
mouth at the moment
of death. When he got
home, Seth found that his
father had already been
buried and so planted
the seeds in his grave.
They sprouted, and from
them grew a marvellous
tree which was both
single and triune. This
tree would survive over
time until it was felled
by Solomon, and – after
various vicissitudes –
buried. The wood was
then discovered much
later and used in making
the instrument of Christ’s
Passion, the Cross. And
that Cross was raised on
Golgotha on the exact
spot where Adam had
been buried; so, as it fell,
Christ’s blood, like the
water of baptism, purified
Adam, announcing to
the first Man and to all
humanity the way to
salvation and a return to
Paradise.
TheThe
Fourteen
Plant
FourthTypes
PlantofBed
The Fourteen Types of Plants
The Pomegranate: the Tree of Life
becomes endowed with specific spiritual
significance, its fruit being not only a
representation of divine perfection but
also an allegory of the Church gathering
together the faithful within itself. Finally,
the pomegranate tree could be a symbol
of vital energy; an expression of the
abundance of life, it embodied fecundity,
ardent love, humility, charity and the
union of all the children of the Church. In
short, it is the Tree of Life, identified with
Christ, who sacrificed Himself for man
and was then resurrected to life. And
the living Christ is actually an organism
in which all of us live, just like the
seeds within the pomegranate and the
pomegranates within the tree itself.
At the centre of the geometrical pattern
of the parterre stands a basin with
a low circular wall that contains a
pomegranate tree. This pronounced
feature has a particular significance,
recalling the tree of life that was often
present in monastic gardens: in ancient
cultures, the pomegranate was a symbol
of wealth and fecundity because of the
number of seeds within its fruit. Within
the Judaeo-Christian tradition, on the
other hand, the tree has a range of
meanings. Firstly, it is listed amongst
the seven types of agricultural produce
the Bible associates with the Promised
Land, and it is also used in a fascinating
manner to describe the form of the
capitals atop the columns in Solomon’s
Temple.
More frequently, the pomegranate
represents God’s blessing upon his
people arising from the Covenant.
And another powerful biblical use of
the fruit is as a symbol of marital love
and, in The Song of Songs, it often
features in descriptions of the beauty
of the beloved; this latter use would
be taken up by St. John of the Cross
in his Spiritual Song. The symbolism
of the Old also appears in the New
Testament, and the Church would then
use the pomegranate tree as a symbol
of itself (a bride dressed in jewels by
her groom). At the same time, the
tree could be a Marian symbol and
also a Christological symbol of the
Resurrection: the red of its fruit echoes
both the blood of the martyrs and the
virtue of Charity.
In Christian mysticism, the tree also
84
On this page: a watercolour design sketch
showing the pomegranate tree that stands at
the centre of the garden.
85
TheThe
Fourteen
Plant
FourthTypes
PlantofBed
The Fourteen Types of Plant
The Passion Flower
teachings but also by its focus upon the
death and resurrection of its founder.
Take away Christ’s death and there is no
salvation; take away the Cross and there
is no Christianity.
This teaching was heroically perceived
by St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross,
who said: “Preaching the Cross would
have no sense if it were not also an
expression of life united with the
Crucified Christ.”
This Carmelite saint, who was born Edith
Stein, embraced the suffering the Jewish
people under the Nazis; someone who
died after deportation to AuschwitzBirkenau, she experienced the pain borne
by her people as comparable to the
weight of the Cross. The passion flower
thus aims to express what the saint
meant when she exclaimed Ave crux,
spese unica, bearing witness to the fact
that the Cross embodies a redeemed
human existence. From a symbol of
opprobrium, it is transformed into one of
salvation and hope.
A climbing plant that has medicinal uses,
the passion flower grows on the iron
railing between the courtyard and the
garden proper, its presence emphasising
the existence of the two gateways and
heralding the mystic contents of the
garden itself.
The plant was brought to Europe in 1610
by an Augustinian friar returning from
Mexico, and it is one of the most widely
recognised of symbolic plants in popular
religion. In fact, it symbolizes the entire
Passion of Christ, given that its corona of
coloured filaments is taken to represent
Christ’s Crown of Thorns, its five stamen
His five wounds, its three stigma the
three nails, its five petals and five sepals
the Apostles who remained faithful to
Christ, its androgynophore the column
of the Flagellation, its curling tendrils the
whips with which He was beaten.
The passion flower here is intended
to convey a powerful message: the
mystery of the Cross casts light upon the
meaning of Creation, which is revealed
to have an end and purpose beyond the
natural world, in union with God. Sin has
undermined the order of that creation,
with man no longer seeing the world as
a work overflowing with goodness but
as a twisted and distorted reality. This
change would have been irreversible if
had not been for the Coming of Christ,
for Jesus took upon himself all of the
human reality that had been degraded by
sin; he made them His own and offered
them up to His Father. Christ’s Passion
and Death are thus at the very heart of
Christianity, which is distinguished from
other religions not only by its moral
Above: two picture of passion flowers.
Below: St. Benedicta of the Cross, born Edith
Stein.
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The Three Walnut Trees
characteristics: the bitterness of the hull,
the hardness of the shell and the sapidity
of the kernel.
However, popular belief in both the
ancient and medieval worlds associated
very negative ideas with the walnut tree.
It was under its bough that witches were
said to gather – a notion inspired by
the fact that, due to a particular toxin
contained in the roots and leaves of
the walnut tree, no other plant grows
near it. However, the tree might also
have positive associations, given that
from the Middles Ages to the Second
World War the presence of a walnut
tree within the countryside invariably
meant the presence of a house nearby.
In fact, such trees were planted each
time a family had a daughter; when she
married, it was felled and its timber sold
so as to provide her with a dowry.
When planning the new layout it was
decided to keep the three walnut trees
growing in the space that backs onto
the Centro Scalzi, for – as St. Augustine
points out – this tree symbolises Christ
Himself: “The Lord of the Nativity can be
seen in relation to the branch of a walnut
tree; for just as we cannot eat the fruit
of that tree without breaking its woody
shell, so Our Lord Jesus Christ could
not take us to Him if we did not draw
close to His body through the wood
of the Cross” (St. Augustine, Sermons
341). In fact, divided into three parts,
the fruit of the walnut can be compared
to Our Lord; the hull is Christ’s flesh,
which experienced the bitterness of
the Passion; the shell is the wood
of the Cross; the kernel, a source of
nourishment and of oil that can provide
light, is the divine nature of Christ.
The walnut is also a symbol of man
himself: the hull is his flesh, the shell
his bones and the gleaming white
kernel within is his soul. Thus, through
taking upon himself human flesh, Christ
would – in the mystery of his death
and resurrection – restore humankind’s
original beauty. As for man, it is through
baptism that he re-acquires the beauty
which he possessed in the garden of
walnut trees that is mentioned in The
Song of Songs: “I went down into
the garden of nuts to see the fruits
of the valley, and to see whether the
vine flourished and the pomegranates
budded.” (Sg 6, 11). Through the
operation of the spirit, the soul of the
just man becomes a garden of walnuts
trees, whose fruit has these three
Watercolour design sketch highlighting the
presence of the three walnut trees beyond
the transitional space.
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The Aromatic Herbs
of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips
are like lilies, dropping sweet smelling
myrrh” (Sg 5, 13); or again: “Let him
kiss me with the kisses of his mouth:
for thy love is better than wine. Because
of the savour of thy good ointments
thy name is as ointment poured forth,
therefore do virgins love thee.” (Sg 1,
2-3). Perfumes and aromas are also
mentioned in the New Testament, where
women use such ointments to honour
Christ. And perfumes and women have
a particular significance in the account
of the Resurrection, which centres
around the figure of an indestructible
Saviour who transcends the terror
and delirium of death to celebrate joy
and victory: “Halleluiah! His perfume
ascends for centuries upon centuries!”
(Rev 19, 3).
On the western side of the garden,
between the buttresses supporting
the perimeter wall, are trays used for
cultivating spices and aromatic herbs (a
total of twenty-four different species).
The trays are twelve in number, a
figure that is associated with Good
Government – think, for example, of the
tribes of Israel, the Apostles and the
divisions of the clock which measures
time. As for the number twenty-four, that
symbolises the harmony of heaven and
earth: as St. Jerome pointed out, the
number is the result of multiplying the
four elements (earth, fire, air and water)
by the six days of creation.
The cultivation of these plants is to be
seen as a return to the herb gardens
that existed in the past. Nowadays,
salt is readily available, so such herbs
and spices are only used occasionally,
whereas once upon a time they were
much more widely used, making for a
far healthier diet. So, these trays are
to be seen in relation to the Garden of
Simples in the second plant bed – and
with the railways station alongside
(given that the trays within which they
grow are made of wooden planks that
recall railway sleepers). However, these
herbs and spices are grown not so
much for their flavour as because they
are sources of aromas and perfumes.
This, too, has a symbolic significance
relating to the Holy Scriptures, which
highlight how the sense of smell is
central to the relation between God and
man. In fact, the Bible often describes
the presence of the divine spirit in terms
of perfume: “His cheeks are as a bed
Watercolour design sketch of the trays with
spices and aromatic herbs.
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Woodland Berries
themselves. At first, the equivalent for the
withdrawal into the desert practised by
the anchorites of the East was withdrawal
into dense forests – even if these were
places where the bounty of nature was
much more plentiful. Thus is its no
coincidence that, in this garden, the plots
with the woodland fruits are opposite the
sixth plant bed – the one with the olive
grove – which symbolises the Carmelites
themselves. The association is a clear
reference to the sorts of food available to
the first friar-hermits.
Considered from a numerological point of
view, the six trays represent labour and
servitude. For example, Hebrew law laid
down that one should work for six days
of the week; that land was to be sown
with crops for six years prior to being
left fallow; that a slave was to serve his
master for six years. The number six
also represents Man, for it was on the
sixth day that God created Adam and Eve
(Gn 1, 26). Furthermore, six embodies
perfection as it is both the sum and
product of the first three numbers (1x2x3
and 1+2+3).
The third plot along the west wall is
given over to the cultivation of woodland
berries, in six trays made up of wooden
planks. Here, there are plants of wild
strawberries, red and blackcurrants,
blackberries, raspberries and bilberries.
In short, the aim is to grow those
woodland berries that flourish wild,
unlike almost all the other plants that
provide men with food (which have been
carefully nurtured).
This return to what one might call original
plants has the significance of a return to
the origins of Christianity, when the early
faithful withdrew from the world to pray
and be closer to God. There is, therefore,
a special reference here to the earliest
Latin anchorites who gathered in the first
hermitage on Mount Carmel. Around
1235, the first Carmelites had to abandon
this original refuge due to raids by the
Saracens who were then re-conquering
the Holy Land. Fleeing such persecution,
they returned to their countries of origin
within Europe, bringing with them the
experience they had acquired as hermits
in the desert. In effect, the desert is
a metaphor for the place where one
casts off all dependence upon things
material. Becoming a stranger to the
material world, one is someone without
a fixed place of residence therein; inner
detachment from the world results in
purity and poverty of heart. However,
there is no physical equivalent for the
eastern desert within Europe. The spread
of human settlements around the western
shores of the Mediterranean and the
ever-denser network of cities meant that
the monks had to “invent” a desert for
Watercolour design sketch showing the fruit
bushes.
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The Rose Pergola
another reference to the colour white.
The association is further underlined by
another description which is still used in
saying of the Virgin that she is “whiter
than snow”.
Roses also grow on either side of the
pergola. The variety here is the ‘Mystic
Rose’, which was created in 2005 (the
150th university of the declaration of the
dogma of the Immaculate Conception)
as the result of a competition held by
the Papal Commission for the Cultural
Wealth of the Church. This rose too is
white, as are the cobble stones used in
paving this area.
Standing in front of the Chapel of the
Madonna, the pergola functions as an
umbraculum, just like the two other
berceaux that run along the longitudinal
paths in the garden. However, unlike
them, this is not created using vines but
solely climbing roses; their colour and
perfume are intended to inform two of
the five senses of the presence of the
Chapel. At the same time, the pergola
acts like the sort of baldachin that one
sees used in religious processions,
a symbol of the special dignity of the
place or person it shelters.
This rose pergola, therefore, is a
place of symbolic transition into the
non-physical world, with the climbing
flowers expressing that progression
through the very delicacy of their visual
beauty and fine scent. It also functions
as a echo of the iconography associated
with the Mother of Mercy, who spreads
her mantle to embrace within it the
numerous faithful kneeling in prayer.
In this way, Mary, Mater Dei, is shown
maternally receiving those who have
lived in God’s grace, guaranteeing their
souls’ salvation. Hence, the pergola/
mantle represents spiritual protection
afforded to humanity.
Furthermore, in the iconography of
Christian mysticism, the Virgin Mary
is a rose without thorn, whose white
colour is a symbol of purity, salvation
and devotion; it is no accident if in the
apparitions at Fatima and Lourdes, the
Madonna appeared in a white robe. Nor
should one forget that in the Litany of
the Blessed Virgin, Mary is described as
turris eburnea – that is, “tower of ivory”,
Watercolour design sketch of the rose
pergola seen from the Chapel.
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The Passion
that were used in the scourging of
Christ: “Then Pilate therefore took
Jesus, and scourged him” (Jn 19, 1).
At the foot of these three plants are
a dozen bushes of red roses. The
number symbolises the tribes of Israel
and the Apostles (that is, the Christian
community). At the same time, the
colour is a reference to that of the
mantle Jesus was made to wear as he
was mocked (purple was the colour
of Roman emperors), and to the drops
of blood which fell when the Crown
of Thorns was placed on his head. In
Christian iconography, in fact, the red
rose can symbolise both the drops of
Christ’s blood and wounds that were
inflicted upon Him.
In the plant bed next to the rose pergola
and the water-gate leading to the canal
beyond the garden is an area given
over to the cultivation of plants that
symbolise the different moments in
Christ’s Passion.
The cypress was already growing here,
and has long be seen within Christian
tradition as a symbol of immortality,
of eternal life after death. In Christian
symbolism, therefore, it represents
both the Resurrection and eternal life.
Furthermore, the cypress is said to
have been one of the four types of tree
whose wood was used in making the
Cross (the others, as already mentioned,
being the palm, cedar and olive tree).
Alongside the cypress here is one of
the plants which are claimed to have
provided the shoots woven to make
the Crown of Thorns. Popular tradition,
perhaps inevitably, varies wildly here
depending upon geography; but in Italy
and Europe, the thorn bush concerned
is widely said to be the Paliurus
Spina-Christi; commonly known as
the Jerusalem Thorn, this has in fact
two types of thorn – one long and
straight, the other hooked. Because of
this characteristic, the bush not only
pricks but actually clings on to anyone
who stumbles against it, hence its bad
reputation in peasant cultures.
Popular traditions regarding the Passion
also account for the presence here of
the salix viminalis, the common willow;
this plant long supplied the flexible
osiers that were used in binding vines to
supports, and this is why it was said to
have been a bundle of willow switches
Design sketches of the three trees of the
Passion.
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A Bed of Flowers
days, the floors of churches were
strewn with flowers, forming a carpet
(and those flowers subsequently
became decorative patterns in marble).
In effect, aesthetic delight in flowers
offered a Via Pulchritudinis – a Path of
Beauty – that led towards the Creator;
that opened up the plan behind His
work. And it is no coincidence that the
design sketch for our bed of flowers
was intended in homage to Andy
Warhol, recalling how Blessed Paul VI
reminded artists of their ability to “make
the invisible world understandable”.
The pope then continued: “Remember
you are the custodians of the world’s
beauty”, and in responding to that
admonition we are also obeying God’s
injunction to Adam, that he should “keep
and dress” the garden.
This section forms a carpet of flowers
that generate a swirl of colour. It aims to
remind one of what is finest and most
beautiful in the Created world, providing
an opportunity to take delight in the true
beauty that God has so freely bestowed
upon us.
In the Holy Scriptures, flowers serve not
only a symbols of external beauty but
also of virtue, of spiritual beauty and
holiness. It is this dual beauty that is
part of liturgical celebration, rendering
God the Creator homage by means of
that which is beautiful in the created
world. Here one might quote a poem by
St. Teresa of Liseux: “I have no other
way of showing you my love, Jesus,
than by throwing flowers before you.
That is, by not missing any opportunity
for small sacrifices, for any kind act
or word; by profiting from all the small
things, and doing so with love. I want to
suffer with love, and to delight in love.
And thus I will cast flowers before thy
throne.”
However, their delicacy has always
meant that flowers have also been
a symbol of the fragility of man, his
subjection to the passage of time. In
the Holy Scriptures it says: “All flesh is
grass, and all the goodliness thereof
is as the flowers of the field […] The
grass withereth, and the flower fadeth;
but the word of our God shall stand for
ever.” (Is 40, 6-8). This is why flowers
are very powerful symbols in religion;
it is no accident that one finds them
playing a part in liturgical worship, in
the decoration of vestments and church
furnishings. Indeed, on particular feast
The flowered garden in homage to Andy
Warhol.
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Persimmon Trees
presented for the first time in Italy,
with a work by Miyajima himself at the
48th Venice Biennale of Visual Arts.
The very fact that the project made its
first appearance in Italy within Venice
itself was another reason for including
a plantation of persimmon trees as a
symbol of peace – understood not only
as the absence of war but also in the
cosmological sense that is embodied
in Christianity. Jesus, in fact, did not
come to Earth to bring peace as the
Greeks understood the term – that is,
the tranquillity of the individual wise man
who places himself above the human
hurly-burly – nor to resolve conflicts. He
came to bring a different peace, which is
the fullness of human existence.
This bed maintained the three existing
persimmon trees, with another four
being added. Reference has already
been made to the symbolic significance
of the number seven in the Christian
tradition, and seven is also the number
of virtues which in China – the place
where this plant has been cultivated
for more than two thousand years –
are associated with the persimmon
tree itself: long life; extensive shade;
absence of bird nests, invulnerability to
woodworm; frost hardened leaves that
can be used for gaming pieces; a source
of fuel; its ability to enrich the soil with a
number of nutrients.
The tree made its appearance in Europe
in the sixteenth century, being known
as the “Oriental Apple”. At the time, it
was only used for ornamental purposes,
and it would not be until the nineteenth
century that it was cultivated for its
fruit. This plant would also be amongst
the few survivors of the bombing of
Nagasaki on 6 August 1945. Those
trees were later nurtured by the botanist
Masayuki Ebinuma and would produce
other plants; thus arose the custom of
giving persimmon seedlings to children
visiting the museum commemorating
the dropping of the atom bomb on
the city, each child being asked to
take them home and plant them as
symbols of peace. In this work Ebinuma
was supported by the artist Tatsuo
Miyajima, with whom in August 1995
he launched “Revive Time: The Kaki
Tree Project” (‘Kaki’ being the Japanese
persimmon). Interest in the idea soon
spread, and in 1999 the scheme was
Design sketches showing the layout of the
persimmon trees.
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The Kiwi
in the presence of God “in disguise” (if
one can put it in those terms). Here one
simply needs to remember Christ’s own
words: “This is my commandment, That
ye love one another, as I have loved you.
Greater love hath no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends.”
(Jn 15, 12-13).
Or again, His exhortation: “Verily I say
unto you, inasmuch as you have done
it unto one of the least of these my
brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
(Mt 25, 40). Thus the presence of the
kiwi plants is a solemn message to the
faithful: that their disinterested care for
their neighbour should bear witness
to the world of the value of Christian
Charity; that to each human being they
should show an echo of the love of
Christ, the love of God the Father.
The kiwi plant is a climbing shrub whose
branches can extend up to ten metres
in height. This is why it was decided
to plant them alongside the vineyard
– again in seventeen rows. The plant
originated in China some 700 years
ago, but its present name is much more
recent and comes from New Zealand. It
arrived on those islands at the beginning
of the twentieth century and was first
known as “Chinese prickly grapes”,
before being renamed as “kiwi” – after
a small flightless bird which is the New
Zealand national symbol and bears a
striking resemblance to the shrub’s
fruit. The bird itself is the object of a
Maori legend, which says that the god
of the forest, Tana Mahuta, once asked
all the birds of the air to fly down from
the skies in order to save the forests
that were being devoured by insects.
The kiwi was the sole bird that set aside
the egoism of flight to respond to the
call, well aware that it would never be
able to return to the skies. In fact, it
subsequently lost its wings altogether.
With its reference to primitive religions,
the kiwi plant figures in this garden
as a symbol of Christian charity. This
should be stressed because the word
“charity” is one of the most abused
in our language, and is often (if not
always) identified as meaning the same
as ‘philanthropy’. However, from the
point of view of the Christian Revelation,
Charity is the highest virtue to which
man can aspire and goes far beyond
philanthropy. In the moment of charity,
the Christian knows that he is not simply
before a fellow human being but actually
Photograph of the kiwi, a bird without
wings.
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Medicinal Trees
is one of the symbols of the Nativity,
of the Coming of the Second Person
of the Trinity who would die to redeem
our sins. Within Christian tradition, the
juniper is also associated with the Holy
Family, who are said to have sheltered
under a juniper during the Flight
into Egypt from the Massacre of the
Innocents ordered by Herod. Hence, it is
a symbol of protection.
Near the hortus semplicium, three trees
known for their medicinal properties
were planted: the juniper, the jujube and
the elder.
Quite apart from the significance of the
number three, the symbolic importance
of the trees lies in the fact that they
are subject to a cycle of growth and
development that echoes that of life and
death. And as with the second plant bed
– given over to medicinal herbs – the
aim is to underline the theme of health,
which within Christianity is to be seen
in global terms, linked to all aspects of
man’s life. Health, in fact, is connected
with the concept of salvation, which
occurs through the total redemption of
man in the resurrected Christ.
These three medicinal trees also convey
a message that is associated with the
symbolic significance each has within
Christian tradition. The elder tree, for
example, was used in burial rites;
its presence reminds us that life is
ephemeral and death ineluctable; that
our existence inevitably involves pain
and illness. For a Christian, however,
it is only our physical life that comes
to an end; our spiritual life is reborn
through the death and Passion of Christ.
And this is symbolised by the jujube
tree, which according to one popular
tradition supplied the shoots for the
Crown of Thorns. That Crown itself is
a symbol is Christ’s sacrifice, which
purified us of sin – just as the juniper
in popular tradition was credited with
healing properties against snake bites.
Given that the serpent is a symbol of the
devil – and, therefore, of sin – this tree
The three medicinal trees.
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The Laurel Tree
Ancient Romans crowned poets and
victorious generals with a circlet woven
of laurel branches as a symbol of glory
and victory. Such a crown was called
a laurea and would remain a feature
of the iconography of later ages in
the depiction of poets and emperors:
there are, for example, famous images
of Dante and Napoleon wearing
laurel crowns. And even nowadays
the branches of the tree are used in
honouring fallen heroes, whilst the
Italian for a university degree is laurea, a
reference to a student’s accession to the
nobility of learning and wisdom.
In the space against the station wall two
laurel trees stand opposite the second
plant bed of the garden, serving to
screen the electricity sub-station. The
name of the plant comes from the Latin
laurus, which means “noble”, and the
species grows naturally throughout the
Mediterranean basin; it is also used in
gardens and parks as an ornamental
feature.
Besides serving to disguise the substation, the two laurels also have
a symbolic function, given that in
the Christian tradition the laurel is
associated with victory and eternal life
(it is an evergreen) and with chastity (its
leaves never decay). The tree is also a
symbol of the Madonna: her words are
as scented as its foliage, and the Virgin
Mary can be said to embody the very
meaning of immortality and chastity.
True, this symbolism was derived from
Greek and Roman culture, for – as we
have seen – the early Christians would
often combat paganism by absorbing
and modifying to their own ends the
symbols of pagan religions. This is why,
for example, in Christianity St. Sebastian
can be said to have taken the place of
Apollo: not only did the means of his
martyrdom obviously echo the arrows
of that pagan god, but the saint was
also said to have miraculous healing
powers against the plague, considered
an expression of God’s wrath. Pagan
heroes themselves had been crowned
with wreathes of laurel, and this
legendary association is used in many
depictions of the saint, shown as a hero
of the Militia Christi.
Watercolour design sketch showing the two
laurel trees.
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The Iris
associated with the Virgin Mary, the
intermediary between God and man. In
fact, in depictions of the Annunciation,
the flower often appears in place of
lilies; in these cases, the irises are
white, their colour symbolising the
purity and incorruptibility of the Virgin,
or perhaps blue, in honour of her role
as Regina Coeli [Queen of Heaven].
In other cases, the purple iris is also
associated with the Virgin – but this time
with her sorrow at the death of Christ.
In popular tradition, however, the colour
violet is also a symbol of modesty and
humility. This is why the iris might be
associated not only with the Virgin
Mary but also with Christ, who had the
humility to become man.
In the narrow bed close to the entrance
on the left irises have been planted.
The presence of a flower right at the
beginning – or end – of a visit to the
garden (depending upon the path taken)
is primarily intended to recall the Garden
of Eden and thus be an expression of
praise for the Creator. However, given its
delicacy, the flower might also be taken
as a symbol of man’s inconstancy and
susceptibility to the passage of time – a
reminder of the fleeting character of
worldly beauty. The choice of the iris
was also due to the very form of the
flower, given that it is made up – in an
almost cyclical manner – for three petals
raised upwards and three that curled
downwards over the top of the stem.
Hence, in Christian iconography the iris
echoes the Trinity, and, in particular,
the three Virtues: Faith, Fortitude and
Wisdom. These attributes are also
stressed by the colour of the flower.
Purple irises are associated with
wisdom, the virtue linked with the third
Person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit,
while red irises symbolise fortitude,
and the blue flowers represent faith and
hope.
The range of colours to be found in this
flower echo the origin of its name, given
that Iris in Greek means “rainbow” ,
the word being derived from the name
of Iris, who was Hera’s maid and the
messenger of the gods: she was said
to have a multi-coloured robe and to
use rainbows as a footbridge between
earth and the heavens. Thus, the iris is
also a symbol of annunciation, and in
Christian iconography became a flower
Watercolour design sketch showing the iris
plants.
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Climbing Plants
colour violet, symbolising penitence and
expectation, is reflected by the wisteria.
Then comes the time of Christmas
itself, which involves the white of that
period’s vestments – here represented
five times over by the jasmine. What
in the liturgical calendar is called
Ordinary Time is a period of reflection
and conversion, and here it is depicted
by the colour green itself. Then comes
Pentecost, the fiftieth day after Easter,
symbolised by red Virginia Creepers; the
colour of their leaves recalls both the
Passion of Christ and the tongues of fire
in which the Holy Spirit descended upon
the Apostles. It is after Easter, in fact,
that Ordinary Time begins in the liturgical
calendar, and here it is represented by
ivy, whose green colour symbolises
hope. Other colours that might be used
in vestments for particular periods of the
year are yellow and gold (here present in
the yellow Bignonia) and pink, which is
to be found in the pink clematis (whose
shade is someway between the purple
of penitence and the white of feastday
celebration). Finally, there are also
the blue flowers of plumbago or blue
jasmine, whose colour features in the
vestments worn on the Virgin Mary’s
feastdays.
The climbing plants along the station
walls are intended not only to conceal
that structure but also to create a
“barrier” that is, in fact, an area of
greenery, thus undermining the sharp
delimitation of space that slices across
the original layout of the garden. Some
stretches of this barrier of greenery
are made up of jasmine, placed to
correspond with the paths of white
gravel and thus stress the presence of
a sort of ideal continuation beyond the
interruption.
Overall, the choice of climbing plants
was determined both by their colour
and their significance in Christian
symbolism. For example, the seven
climbing plants (the number signifies
the completion of the circuit around the
garden) weave together in a symbol of
friendship towards each other: as they
rise and intertwine, their action might
be taken as reflecting the way friends
depend upon each other. As for the
symbolism of colours here, this is linked
with the ceremonies of the liturgical
years, which begins in NovemberDecember with a period of reflection
and prayer before Christmas. The
The wall on the station side of the garden, covered with climbing plants.
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Lighting
The design for the lighting in the garden
is inspired by the notion of this space as
forming an indissoluble whole with the
Carmelite church and monastery – that
is, as part of an expression of faith. The
entire space is intended as somewhere
that one can come to dialogue with God,
to experience His presence, at any hour
of the day or night. It is no coincidence
that St. John of the Cross coined the
expression “obscure night” in reference
to the key element of all mystical
experience. Such a sense of being at
one with the Absolute, culminates when
night becomes “a night of peace, the
deep and obscure night of knowledge of
the divine.”
Night is, thus, a time when faith is
active, reaching through the darkness
to unity with God, which is light itself.
Such light is reflected by nothing; it is
itself obscure and indivisible, a shadow
where the soul, in the words of St. John,
“knows only that it is in the darkness”.
However, this darkness has a very
specific peculiarity: “Leaving the soul
free, unburdened with any information
or thought [...] and contenting itself
solely with a calm and loving awareness
of God [...] In fact, contemplation is
nothing other than the secret, peaceful
and loving infusion of God.”
From this starting-point, the design
of the lighting for the garden aimed to
stimulate the dialogue of love and God.
The artificial lighting gradually reveals
the features of the garden – a place,
it will be recalled, that is intended to
represent the earthly paradise, the
home of God and of the man who lives
in communion with Him. At the same
time, there was full awareness that the
garden is an open-air space, an integral
part of a three-dimensional world under
the heavens; and even at night the sky
can be as source of light, representing
God in his heaven. In effect, the design
summarises how, within the “dark
night”, man is guided to God by means
of points of light – symbolised by the
stars, which herald His presence. Thus
the points of light here are not glaring;
their presence is intended solely to met
the functional needs of identifying the
pathways through the garden.
Watercolour design sketch showing the
lighting of the garden paths.
99
Irrigation
The garden can be irrigated by means
of a system that collects rainwater. This
itself has a ecological significance, given
that in recent years the demand for
water has increased exponentially – so
much so that there are serious worries
regarding future availability.
As this was the case, it seemed
necessary to come up with a irrigation
system that used as little drinking
water as possible, and thus drew
upon rain that, having fallen on the
roofs of the church and monastery,
was then channelled into cisterns.
Modern technology made it possible
to create such tanks – located at the
first transversal paths across the
garden – and equip them with filters and
pumps that guarantee sufficient water
pressure within the system; there is
also an overflow should rainfall be too
substantial. In effect, this is a modern
version of the old cistern well that was a
part of Venetian tradition – an example
of which is to be seen in the courtyard
linked to the pathways through the
garden.
The use of rainwater also reflects
the teachings of St. Teresa of Avila,
who said that silent prayer might be
compared to a garden, and those
praying were like gardeners who, if
they wanted to see their flowers grow
and blossom, had to water them. The
saint then describes four different ways
of obtaining that water – that is, four
different levels of prayer. The first is that
of novices, who must with great effort
draw the “water” from the well. The
second level (that of those absorbed
in prayer) corresponds to obtaining
water by means of systems that raise
water to the surface, and thus require
the exertion of less effort. As for the
third level, here the water is directly
present, as in a river or spring (such as
that beside the river Jordan). The spring
is, in fact, the Lord, who practically
prevents the soul from making any
effort, requiring it simply to give itself
over to the calm of the Holy Spirit.
And the fourth level of prayer is that in
which the water descends directly from
heaven, from divine love and grace, and
brings with it full union with the Lord.
St. Teresa of Avila in a painting by Fra
Giovanni della Miseria.
100
The Garden Huts
Work in the garden clearly required the
presence of huts that can contain all
the equipment and tools necessary for
nurturing the plants. The need for the
cultivation of the garden to go together
with the norms governing monastic life
meant that the very colour and materials
of the huts had to be suitable for their
location. It was this which inspired the
design of the sheds for the gardening
tools, which are intended to establish a
dialogue with Time. Like water, time does
not have a form of its own but expresses
itself through the traces it leaves; in this
case, through the colours and features
of the space which the Discalced
Carmelites brothers have created over
the course of history. The goal was to
reveal – and, in part, picture – these
traces through a subtle balance between
tradition and innovation, maintaining
continuity with the architecture of the
past. This meant that the morphology of
the terrain itself determined the location
of the new facilities, and also their formal
appearance. Thus these ‘gardening
sheds’ were designed as cupboards,
well aware that all furnishings either
enhance or disfigure their setting. The
space between the buttresses of the
tall wall on the south-west side of the
garden was considered most suitable
for these “lockers”, which slot into line
with the structure: in volume, they do
not jut beyond the buttresses and, in
terms of colour, their weathering steel is
perfectly adapted to their surroundings.
The choice of this material was due
to the fact that it can reflect chromatic
variations over time, as well as providing
solid protection and seeming to blend
in with the historical environment of the
monastery and garden.
On the north-east wall marking the
boundary with the railway station,
another three huts with specific purpose
are envisaged. The largest of these
will be for gardening and agricultural
On this page:
Left: watercolour design sketch of the garden cabinets.
Right: watercolour design sketch of the shed for gardening machinery.
101
The Garden Huts
Bibliography
Bibliography
machinery; the other two are to serve
as nurseries for all types of annual
plants and herbs, from which seedlings
can then be transplanted to the garden.
Returning to the south-west wall, it
should be pointed out that alongside the
buttress next to the Centro Scalzi the
pumps for the rainwater collection plant
will be housed in other sheds which
will be made of perforated and striated
lamina. This “technical facilities shed”
goes together with a bin for compost,
whose aim is to limit its visual impact.
The impact is further reduced by the
modulation of light across the perforated
surface and again by the ability of
weathering steel to blend in: the infinite
shades of colour that develop in such
steel are both warm in tone and seem
to reflect the idiosyncratic character that
was an integral part of work created by
the ironsmiths of the past. Another three
bins for compost are envisaged for the
northern side of the garden: they will be
made in the same fashion and located
between the buttresses of the wall
alongside the Chapel of the Madonna.
Bettini G., Frank M. (edited by), La chiesa di Santa Maria di Nazareth e la spiritualità
dei Carmelitani Scalzi a Venezia, Marcianum Press, Venezia 2014
Berengo Gardin G., Moldi Ravenna C., Sammartini T., Giardini segreti a Venezia,
Arsenale editrice, Venezia 1992
Capozzi R., Le architetture ad aula: il paradigma Mies van der Rohe. Ideazione,
costruzione, procedure compositive, Clean, Napoli 2010
Cardinali S., Giardinosofia il sacro recinto della bellezza, in «Segni e comprensione»,
y. XXIV, n. 72, September-December 2010
Corsetti G., Garatti M.R., Tra gli alambicchi del convento, Edizioni Maria Rosa Garatti,
Brescia 2014
Cunico M., Il giardino veneziano, Albrizzi Editore, Venezia 1989
Grimal P., L’arte dei giardini. Una breve storia, Donzelli Editore, Roma 2000
Hopkins A., Baldassare Longhena 1597 – 1682, in La chiesa di Santa Maria di
Nazareth e la spiritualità dei Carmelitani Scalzi a Venezia, edited by Giacomo Bettini
and Martina Frank, Marcianum Press, Venezia 2014
Sturm S., Il più povero, il più religioso, il più sano. Modelli architettonici
dei Carmelitani Scalzi tra ‘500 e ‘600, in «Quaderni Carmelitani», n. 24,
Il Carmelo e l’arte, ed. OCD 2009
Vecchiato R., Gli Speziali a Venezia: pagine di storia, published by Mazzanti Libri, in
collaboration with the Pharmacists Association of Venice, 2013
On this page:
Left: watercolour design sketch of the plant nursery.
Right: watercolour design sketch of the shed containing the irrigation pumping station.
102
103
Edited by: Carlo Favero, Giorgia Favero.
Texts by: Carlo Favero, Giorgia Favero, Giorgio Forti,
Father Roberto Magni, Father Fabio Pistillo.
The photographs of the church and its decoration
are by Francesco Turio Bohm
and are published by kind permission of ISSR
“San Lorenzo Giustiniani”, Venice.
The watercolour illustrations from the design project
for the garden are by Giorgio Forti.
The publisher acknowledges his readiness
to recognise possible rights to images for which
it has been impossible to trace current copyright holders.
Graphic design
EUREKIP, Breda di Piave (Tv), Italy
Translation
Jeremy James Scott
Printing and publishing
BIBLOS EDIZIONI, Cittadella (Pd), Italy
www.biblos.it
© 2015 Biblos / Consorzio Vini Venezia
ISBN 978-88-6448-080-0
Printed completed in the month of June 2015
in the printworks of Biblos srl
www.biblos.it - [email protected]
Cittadella (Pd), Italy
Calle Priuli ai Cavalletti
0
2
10
Ponte d
e
gli Scalz
20
24
6
6
6
VII
E
5
24
15
11
14
10
L
26
27
7
28
29
23
21
P
a
lla Cre
Rio de
Q
30
21
The Monastery and Church
of the Discalced Carmelites:
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
Entrance to the Church;
Entrance to the Garden;
Monastery;
Courtyard;
Rustic Building;
First Plant Bed;
Second Plant Bed;
22
1
1
21
19
18
I
L
M
N
O
P
Q
Third Plant Bed;
Fourth Plant Bed;
Fifth Plant Bed;
Sixth Plant Bed;
Seventh Plant Bed;
Chapel;
Water-Gate;
Wine Cellar.
A
I
Canal Grande
12
8
IV
3
III
II
F
4
1
B
Calle dei Carmelitani
17
Fermata ACTV
Ferrovia
litani
i Carme
Calle de
Stazione F.S.
Venezia Santa Lucia
The Church:
H
9
5
25
O
13
G
H
V
D
20
I
VI
2
16
M
IX
2
C
N
VIII
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
Nave;
The Chapel of the Crucifixion;
The Chapel of the Holy Family;
The Chapel of St. Sebastian;
The Presbytery;
The Choir;
The Chapel of St. John
the Baptist;
The Garden:
VIII
IX
The Chapel of St. Teresa
of Avila;
The Chapel of St. John
of the Cross
1
2
3
4
5
Climbing plants: wisteria,
jasmine, Virginia creeper,
ivy, yellow bignonia,
pink clematis, plumbago;
Three walnut trees;
Passion flower;
Irises;
Pergola with vines;
6
7
8
9
Spices and aromatic herbs
(twelve trays);
Laurel trees;
Medicinal herbs for treatment
of the skin;
of the cardio-vascular
system;
10
11
12
13
Medicinal herbs
as detoxifying agents;
Medicinal herbs used
as balms;
of the nervous system;
of the respiratory system;
14
15
16
17
18
19
of the urinary-genital system;
of the digestive system;
Melissa;
Medicinal trees: hawthorn;
Medicinal trees: juniper;
Medicinal trees: elder;
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
Pomegranate tree;
Jasmine;
Kiwi tree;
Persimmon tree;
Berry bushes (six plots);
Pergola with white roses;
The Passion Plant Bed:
willow;
27
28
29
30
Christ’s thorn;
cypress;
Red roses;
Flower meadow.
i
Publication edited with the support of
in Venice
The Church of Santa Maria di Nazareth
Useful Information
Tel. 041 82.24.006
[email protected]
www.carmeloveneto.it
www.centroscalzi.it

The Discalced Carmelites in Venice

Transcription

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